Winds of Change
by Corvette Lead
Summary: Our friends face a changing world.
1. Winds of Change

WINDS OF CHANGE By Corvette Lead  
  
Author's Note - Rated PG for language. Additional chapters may have different ratings. Spoilers: none.  
  
DISCLAIMER All JAG characters are the property of others. No cash has changed hands, nor is any profit sought. I'm just moving the pieces around.  
  
0745 EST  
  
It was a familiar dance between the tall, strong-willed flag officer and his yeoman.  
  
"Admiral, BUPERS called again this morning asking about FITREPS. The leading chief over there is trying to get all of the paperwork moving because the new SECDEF is leaning on the SECNAV, and.."  
  
"Damnit Tiner! I know they want the FITREPS in, and I will have the last of them this morning. Assuming that nothing from the real navy gets in the way of the bureaucrat nonsense." With that left-handed promise CPO Tiner beat a quick retreat from A. J. Chegwidden's office.  
  
Regular fitness reports were required from all commanders rating their officers, and the wheels of progress were squeaky indeed when all of the paperwork wasn't hacked into place on time. Most of the Judge Advocate General's staff had been rated. The completed files were neatly stacked in the out basket. Three were not, and that was burr under the Admiral's sea blanket.  
  
Mattoni, Imes, Singer, Roberts (Harriet), and the others had been completed days ago. In fact the Admiral's Chief of Staff had signed off the required review with the rated officer last Wednesday and the paperwork was ready for shipment to the staff plunders at BUPERS.  
  
Three files remained out of the 43 officers assigned to JAG headquarters, and the hard edged former SEAL was having a hard time bringing himself to complete the ratings forms, draft the necessary recommendations, and forward the files.  
  
Commander Harmon Rabb.  
  
Lt. Col. Sarah MacKenzie  
  
Lt. "Bud" Roberts  
  
Each officer was going to see changes in their life once the FITREPS were put into the Navy's paperwork mill. All were in line for promotion. All were slated for more responsibility, and "God Damnit! they were all probably headed for new assignments and out of JAG, Chegwidden muttered.  
  
The new administration recently sworn in to the White House brought major turnover at the DOD. The new Vice President was the Gulf War SECDEF. He knew the ropes. Hell, he even knew some of the people. The new SECNAV was going to have to make some changes to keep his boss happy.that much Chegwidden knew as fact.  
  
The Vice President, in fact, told the Admiral out of school that the new President was going to order a "bottom up" review of the American military's doctrine, staffing, equipment, plans, and objectives. "A rehash of the old will not cut it," the Vice President said one evening during a reception at the Marine Barracks. "AJ, all of the services are going to have bring a fresh look at their charters to the table, or someone will do it for them," the Vice President flatly offered.  
  
Winds of change, Chegwidden concluded, would probably blow at least some of the key people right out of his command. What the Admiral did not know was they the same winds would blow him out of Falls Church and up the river to The Pentagon.or out to retirement.  
  
2045 EST  
  
Shadows from the crackling fireplace danced across the historic office as AJ finally ordered himself to move to the three officer's records. Over the course of the last few days a legal pad had accumulated his abbreviated thoughts about the three officers, and he looked over his notes before setting his hand to the final FITREPs.  
  
RABB  
  
Academy grad with long ties to the Naval establishment. Strong willed officer tenacious in his pursuit of the truth.where ever it takes him Holder of two Distinguished Flying Crosses, but an aging pilot who left the fleet to return to JAG after discovering his future in Naval aviation had passed him up. Hard man to keep on the reservation politically. Not afraid to take unpopular stands, but apparently unable to take an objective look at his own personal life. Lack of family stability will make him hard to promote much beyond his current grade. An above average lawyer and highly imaginative litigator. Would be a great combat leader with tremendous personal courage.but would need a strong second to mind the administrative store.  
  
MACKENZIE  
  
Solid legal scholar and honors graduate of the Duke University law school. Pragmatic officer who can keep her head in the face of multiple challenges. Has a proven willingness to run to the sound of gunfire. Solid litigator with flashes of courtroom brilliance. Relentless interrogator. Served with troops in the Balkans receiving a Bronze and Silver Star. Faced down multiple personal challenges to reach her current rank. A solid prospect as a staff officer, but not so sure about a larger command without more seasoning.  
  
ROBERTS  
  
Possibly the best legal practitioner on the entire staff blending the best of Rabb's bulldog nature with MacKenzie's legal guile. Strong, solid home life. Steady. Will stay the course. A good man in a storm. Can balance immediate needs with long-term objectives. Probably based on his PIO (public information office) background when in the fleet.  
  
"Well, shit! I guess it's time to finish these off," Chegwidden thought as he slid his keyboard out of the drawer to the right of the desk. He opened the Commander's Comments and Recommendations section of the Lieutenant's file and started to type:  
  
"The lieutenant is a solid officer and credit to the U. S. Navy who meets all of the requirements for promotion to Lt. Commander. His 4.0 performance of all assigned duties reflects positively on this office, his immediate supervisor, and the Navy in general.  
  
"Lt. Roberts should be retained in the JAG headquarters operation, and it would be my recommendation that if the needs of the service require him to be moved to a different posting ashore or with the fleet it be done keeping in mind the following:  
  
"The lieutenant, even at this early stage of his career, has demonstrated the characteristics of an officer destined for upper levels of responsibility in the Navy's legal establishment."  
  
After the comments were printed and signed AJ attached the DF to the cover and put the file into the confidential out basket, and, turning to the MacKenzie file, glanced over his notes, then started to type again.  
  
"This hard headed Marine has grown into an outstanding Chief of Staff who has developed the critical skill of balancing priorities that is vital today as we attempt to do more and more with fewer and fewer people. Her career and personal growth over the last two years has made this officer one of the most important members of the JAG senior staff.  
  
"Her legal achievements, when coupled with her accomplishments while detailed to other agencies within the legal and security services have made her valuable commodity to any command ashore or afloat.  
  
"The undersigned would recommend this officer for promotion to Colonel without reservation and endorse reassignment to any posting within the naval legal establishment. If, however, the needs of the service require reassignment to duty with troops as a staff officer, deputy battalion commander, or similar post I would strongly recommend at least an additional year in the present grade for seasoning at the command level."  
  
"Jesus!" AJ thought. "That sounds cold, but it's true. Mac is a helluva Marine and a good officer, but she needs some time to get her feet back under her if she is sent back to the Fleet Marines. The best job in the world for Mac would be as Harm's deputy, caddy, watchdog, or keeper.wherever the heck he's sent." In fact, that would be worth calling in a favor or two.AJ thought.  
  
The Rabb file was all that was left, and that was going to be a tough one to complete. The objective parts of the FITREP were filled with 4.0 ratings, but the commander's notes would be a stone cold bitch, AJ thought.  
  
"This officer," AJ began, "has served under my command on two occasions distinguishing himself and this office in the many ways. His fearless service while on TDY within the security and intelligence service has lead to the award of an Intelligence Star (Confidential), and his single-minded search for the truth has frequently created controversy as well as illumination.  
  
"Commander Rabb is uniquely qualified for promotion to the rank of Captain although he may be slightly outside the zone. A promotion from the 5% list would be merited.  
  
"This officer's tendency to 'think outside the box' can be a tremendous asset, although he, at times, can focus on near-term problem at the expense of long-term implications.  
  
"Should this officer be promoted to command rank? Absolutely. He is a natural leader.a commander in the most natural sense."  
  
At 2325 EST AJ Chegwidden signed the final FITREP and poured two fingers of single malt scotch into a tumbler and thought back over the past as the future started to crystallize on the winds of change. 


	2. The Surprise

April 15 0745 EDT  
  
RADM A. J. Chegwidden was ushered into the Chief of Naval Operations office for what he thought was the chief's regular briefing. All thought of a 'normal' meeting vanished from the Admiral's thinking when he saw the new SECDEF, new SECNAV, and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs all sitting around the CNO's conference table. 'Shit!'  
  
"Good Morning, AJ! Coffee?" the CNO greeted as the yeoman ushered AJ into the spacious Pentagon office.  
  
As AJ nodded, the Chairman spoke up. "If you are thinking ambush, don't. We're here for an 'out of school' conversation that can't be handled officially, right now. So, relax, I know SEAL training dies hard . even for a lawyer or a gentleman.  
  
"Big challenges and bigger changes are coming. The vice president has been named to head a team to conduct a bottom-up of the DOD. I'm quoting now, 'General, I don't want anymore of the horseshit you have been dipping up at the puzzle palace since I worked on that side of the river. The boss realizes that we are in trouble on a number of fronts about money, people, hardware, modernization, and capability. He's committed to taking the political heat for bringing the armed forces into the 21st century, but you are going to have to put an integrated plan into the hopper.'"  
  
Instantly AJ could see a major migraine headache coming. 'What do these vultures want from me personally.or what problems are they going to dump into JAG to be cleaned up.'  
  
"AJ you are here for a couple of reasons," SECDEF spoke up. "On the personal side I want to give you a heads up: You have been nominated for a third star, and once that is confirmed you will be moved up river to run a new policy initiatives office and report directly to me.  
  
"My predecessor says you are the man to keep the palace praetorian guard under control and an eye on the ball.  
  
"There is a second issue that also involves you directly," SECNAV added. "I don't have the necessary confidence that any of the currently serving senior officers can do what the President has directed. They are too grounded in sacred history, and I don't have the time or inclination to get bogged down in a pissing contest with the aviation lobby, the submarine Mafia, or any of the other entrenched power points.  
  
"I am going to call Tom Boone back to active duty to head a task force to write the Navy's manifesto for the 21st Century.if you are prepared to tell me there's nothing hidden in the investigation your people conducted prior to his last courts martial.  
  
"Yes or no Admiral. Is Tom Boone okay?"  
  
"The officers who ran that investigation both told me Boone was a good man caught in a bad spot over the Vietnam allegations. The CIA on one side and his honor on the other. And, the admiral was ready to fall on his sword about the situation in the Balkans although he was 'right' from the start, and that's good enough for me," AJ said flatly.  
  
"Okay. That's a done deal. Now let's give AJ the rest of the medicine about the Boone Board," SECNAV said with a grin that reminded AJ of the way a cat looks at a slow mouse. "Your top gun Rabb is being promoted to Captain and sent to Boone as general counsel and deputy as soon as we can get the paperwork authorizing the board run through the hoops. I am thinking that it will be 40 - 60 days before they are up and running. Can Rabb wrap up whatever mischief he is involved with in that length of time?  
  
"Finally, Admiral, with you leaving within the next 90 days; Rabb leaving in 60 days max, and some other assignment changes in the immediate offing where does that leave JAG? We can't shut down the Navy's primary legal shop for lack of personnel or leadership."  
  
AJ thought for a moment about his staff (soon to be ex-staff) before responding. "Under the circumstances the operation will run without significant augmentation, but that won't last.particularly if something big jumps up. We've also got some slick folks we can grab on TDY if needed."  
  
"AJ," the CNO spoke up, "you better start bringing some of the hot troops home.TDY if necessary pending permanent change of station orders. Your shop is going to have a bunch of changes. It would also be a good idea for you to talk with me soon about your replacement. I have already seen the alternatives that the Pentagon general counsel has come up with, and they will not work. Not today."  
  
On that note the meeting broke down into a discussion of the routine items AJ expected to discuss when he walked into the Pentagon. The ride back to Falls Church gave AJ an opportunity to think about his surprise meeting with the big brass, and, frankly, he was surprised and astonishingly eager to move along.  
  
Other changes in the JAG team were also in the pipeline, AJ anticipated, and he was sure the staff plunderers at BUPERS were hard at work on moving his people up, out, and along. What he didn't know was how soon those changes would take place.  
  
1045 EDT April 15  
  
PO1 Tiner jumped to his feet as Chegwidden rumbled into the JAG bullpen. "Admiral on deck!" Automatically AJ put the bullpen back to work with a mumbled "as you were" while turning into his office. The yeoman moved quickly to close the admiral's door and return to the desk, but his escape wasn't quick enough.  
  
"Tiner, what's this 'confidential' package from BUPERS?"  
  
"Sir, I'm not sure, but it came by Pentagon courier about an hour ago. That's the same way the last round of promotion and reassignment paperwork came."  
  
The Admiral looked at the package much the same way he looked at a booby trap trip wire in the Southeast Asian jungles years ago and, at least for the moment, thought those may have been easier times.  
  
Sorting through the stack of official paperwork that composed the BUPERS package AJ quickly pulled out the salient parts and read..  
  
"Tiner," AJ bellowed, "as soon as the senior staff has trickled back from lunch I want everyone in the big conference room for a brief meeting. If anyone has court appearances for 1330, make arrangements for the second chair to make their manners with the presiding officer until the senior staff is released from this little fun fest."  
  
1220 EDT April 15  
  
Middle April can be cool and wet in Washington, D. C., but this was a chamber of commerce day, and the little sidewalk café a short walk from the JAG office was filled with Navy personnel and promotions were the topic of conversation at any number of tables.  
  
One group gathered on the patio had other things to discuss.more pleasant things too be sure.  
  
On one side of the table the lieutenants Roberts were conniving their sons' God Parents into watching Little AJ over part of the upcoming Easter holiday so they could get away for a couple of days of R&R. On the other side of the wooden picnic table Rabb and a lovely Marine Lieutenant Colonel were jockeying over Little AJ's housing arrangements and entertainment plans.  
  
Little did any of them know that the winds of change that were reshaping political Washington were about to restructure their lives in the coming weeks.  
  
1305 EDT April 15  
  
"Now that everyone is here, people, let me have your attention. I have a number of announcements," the Admiral said opening the meeting. "The Navy's bureaucratic Gods have stirred. Now there's official and 'unofficial' news that impacts almost everyone here. I want to get all of the details on the table in one pass so we don't spend the next few weeks being interrupted every few days when the 'official' word concerning promotions and assignments comes down the pipeline."  
  
Those few words grabbed each officer's rapt attention. Over the next few minutes careers would be changed and lives altered in a way unique only to the military, and everyone wanted to absorb each nuance of the Admiral's words.  
  
"First, the CNO and SECNAV told me this morning that I have been nominated for a third star and I will be leaving JAG for a new job in the SECDEF's office.within 90 days."  
  
For most of the senior staff Rear Admiral (Upper Half) A. J. Chegwidden had been THE JAG almost forever. No one seriously thought he would leave Falls Church for any reason short of death or retirement. The questions came quickly. "No. I am not prepared to discuss any details now. It's been a pleasure to serve with each of you, and I will discuss this in more detail in the near future. For now, be quiet. There's much more to come.  
  
"Lt. (Bud) Roberts you will be promoted to Lt. Commander with an effective date of May 1. You will remain at JAG HQ for not more than an additional 120 days from your promotion prior to being sent to JAG Pacific in Pearl Harbor as head of litigation and deputy chief of staff. We will twiddle Harriett's reserve posting to send her to Hawaii also.probably with a return to active duty..Goddamnit quiet!  
  
"There will obviously be a number of staff moves here, and much of that will be left to the new JAG...and at this point there is no word on who that will be. However since there will be a number of open job slots when all of the changes shake out we will have some new faces around here over the next few weeks.  
  
"Meg Austin was promoted to Lt. Commander in the last evolution, and she will be coming back to Falls Church within 10 days.." There was more: "Commander Kate Pike is coming back to Falls Church TDY for 45 days starting one week from today" Harm and Mac each had a whirlwind of contradictory thoughts start to form, but before those thoughts were completely formed, much less considered, the final bombshell was dropped.  
  
"Commander Rabb and Col. MacKenzie will also both be leaving JAG in the near future . .SILENCE! I'm not done here.  
  
"Commander Rabb you have been promoted to Captain with an effective date of May 1 although you may consider yourself 'frocked' effective close of business this week. Commander, you will be leaving JAG to serve as general counsel for a new operation headed by RADM Tom Boone, who will be recalled to active duty on or before May 1. You will probably also be named his chief of staff when you move your gear to Adm. Boone's office on or before June 1. Quiet damnit!  
  
"Colonel you will be leaving us at the end of the duty day next Friday with five days of leave prior to heading to the 3rd Marine Expeditionary Unit TDY as the G-2. You will be replacing another Lt. Colonel being shipped home following a JAGMAN investigation being run by the 6th Fleet JAG office. Your stay in the Mediterranean should be brief. The BUPERS DF on your paperwork indicates you will get your eagle at the end of the TDY stay and prior to receiving a new 'permanent' assignment.  
  
"Okay people there's work to be done. The speculation can be done at McMurphys later. Dismissed!"  
  
Harm and Mac looked at each other across the table trying to see if the other could make heads or tails out the Admiral's string of announcements. The questions did not need any real words.the "look" was enough.and that's all there was for a long moment.  
  
"Captain? Working for Tom Boone? "  
  
"Adm. Boone was forced into retirement.now he's being brought back to run some mystery shop."  
  
"Kate's coming home!"  
  
"3rd Marines . as the G-2 . then promotion?"  
  
"What does Meg's transfer mean.."  
  
"Jesus. Meg and Kate back at JAG? The office will look like the Harmon Rabb harem.shit.I mean fan club.partners association.shit!"  
  
"What's the CAG's new job?"  
  
"What else ." they both wondered walking out of the conference room with Harm's hand on Mac's back. As they walked out of the room Clayton Webb vanished into the Admiral's office. The heavy door muffled the raised voices inside but it was clear AJ and the 'Assistant Secretary' were probably not talking about dinner plans.  
  
1330 EDT April 15  
  
"Commander? Colonel?" The Gunny inquired. "The Admiral needs you in his office ASAP!"  
  
### 


	3. Transitions

1350 EST April 15  
  
As Harm and Mac made their way through the bullpen to the Admiral's office Clayton Webb walked past Tiner's desk heading for the door with a nod to the two officers but no words of wisdom about what was brewing with the boss.  
  
"Colonel, Commander go right in," Tiner offered closing the door behind the two officers. Adm. A. J. Chegwidden was standing looking out the tall windows behind his desk as Harm and Mac talked into the office coming to attention before the huge classic desk. "Col. MacKenzie and Cmd. Rabb reporting as ordered."  
  
"Please take a seat," was followed by a lengthy pause as the Admiral marshaled his thoughts before talking with his senior team. "This conversation must stay in this office. Do I make myself clear?" Both officers nodded their understanding before Chegwidden continued. "Big changes are coming. The Chairman, SECDEF, and SECNAV ambushed me this morning at the Chief's regular briefing. Apparently the White House is going to really push on a comprehensive force realignment and modernization package that addresses the Post Cold War geopolitical situation.  
  
"What that means for the future of the military establishment is uncertain, and if history is any teacher all of the established constituencies are going to pull out all of the stops to advance their respective agendas. After all it's Washington. What do we expect?"  
  
Mac and her partner exchanged one of their "okay, now what?" looks as the Admiral paused and looked away.  
  
"Here is how you, Mr. Rabb fit into the picture," Chegwidden resumed. "Tom Boone is being returned to active duty to for a very sensitive assignment. You will be transferred on board as general counsel and lead investigator. The Chief and SECNAV have concluded that Tom Boone is really what he appears to be.a hard headed, pragmatic officer who has 'seen the elephant' enough times to face a fight with a clear head. He's seen as an officer who is willing to actually recognize the existence of a 'big picture' and act on that recognition damn the consequences.  
  
"Harm, you have known the Admiral for years. He respects you.despite the fact you are a lawyer.and, in fact, he asked specifically for you. He told the Vice President - an old Gulf War associate - that he wouldn't take the job without you.  
  
"That is all I know at the moment. You are on the DF list for all a bunch of very sensitive paperwork involving your new billet effective today. Check with the Gunny to arrange space and storage suitable for handling Top Secret and named Top Secret paperwork. I would rather you find a place here to work than have to move for the moment," Chegwidden concluded.  
  
"Now, it's your turn Colonel. The move to the 3rd MEF is temporary, but it could run up to six months. The former G-2 had his security clearance pulled because of questions about his personal life and the expeditionary force intelligence operation in the Balkans has apparently more leaks than a pasta colander.  
  
"Mac, this is a 'huge' opportunity to take a gigantic career step, and it may open the door to higher rank and bigger things if you make the right impression on COMMEDFOR." The phone cut further conversation off at this point as the Admiral's direct line to the CNO sounded off. "Yes Tom. I'll standby for the Chief." Turning to his senior team the Admiral dismissed the two officers with a question:  
  
"Harm, Mac if you can find the time I would like to pick up this conversation after work this afternoon. How about the Navy Yard O Club around 1800?" After being excused the two officers left their chief's office filled with questions, but pressing court appearances prevented any additional conversation as they went separate ways through the bullpen.  
  
Mac gathered a stack of folders stacked precariously on the corner of her desk and walked out the door heading for Courtroom Three where a mildly irritated Capt. Bennett Wallace was waiting for her appearance. "Good afternoon colonel," the judge pointedly interrupted an apparently heated debate on some procedural point. "I am pleased that you were able to join us this afternoon. Was your meeting informative?" The presiding officer was obviously not at all pleased to listen to a pair of junior attorneys argue over an obscure point of law.  
  
"Thank you your honor," Mac quickly said. "I apologize for imposing on the court's time.."  
  
"That's appreciated Colonel. But what I would really appreciate is a clear statement of the government's position on the Harwell matter. Lt. Singer and Lt. Waters have been busy confusing the mundane with the important."  
  
"Yes, your honor. The government moves to dismiss all charges pending further investigation. Additional information has been developed that may alter the course of the case and it is in the best interest of all involved to drop the current charges and return the accused to duty."  
  
"Thank you colonel. Perhaps at some point you can clear up why Lt. Singer couldn't just either ask for a brief recess or make that routine motion in your absence. Good day." Mac dropped the files into Singer's lap, made an abrupt turn and marched out of the courtroom leaving a very confused lieutenant in her wake.  
  
As this scene unfolded Harm walked into the "old" courtroom on the ground floor just as Adm. Morris adjourned court for the day to consider a motion for directed verdict that Bud and Lt. Cmd. Imes had argued since court had been called into session after lunch. "Sir, I'm sorry I didn't know when you would be back in court, and Adm. Morris insisted that we are already behind schedule backing his docket up." "Bud, you were right. Argue the motion when it comes up. Adm. Morris is a stickler for keeping his docket moving, and it's not a good practice to get on his bad side . even through you will be abandoning the Washington wrangling for the lead litigator's job in paradise."  
  
"Sir, that came out of the blue. I knew I had enough time in grade to be considered for promotion in this cycle, but a promotion, a transfer to Hawaii, and the deputy chief's job. I can't wait to tell Harriett."  
  
"It's a reward," Harm said, "but remember who JAG/Pacific is these days. Keep one eye on your six Bud. Capt. Krennick is still bucking to be the first female JAG, and remember: Under the cold, calculating exterior that Allison presents to the world, a truly hard, cynical heart beats."  
  
"Thanks for that reminder. I had managed to forget that she had moved out of NATO headquarters and to PACFLT. That could make even a tropical paradise seem a little like the South Pole." "Bud, she's a pain in the ass," Harm said, "but she is also a fine attorney who can show you ways to play the legal system like a violin."  
  
On that note Harm ducked into his office closing the door behind himself.  
  
The balance of that wonderful spring afternoon was devoted to busy work and some serious mental gymnastics for JAG's two senior officers. The old order was being turned over and a new reality was about to unfold that could, would change many things.  
  
Over the years Harm and Mac, much to the dismay of their friends, managed to keep their mutual attraction shoved back into one pigeon hole or another while running through several lifetimes worth of lame excuses for not acting on the obvious. That lengthy list of excuses was rapidly turning into a very complicated dry hole with a fiancée and a serious girlfriend involved.  
  
Harm's reluctance to step up to the plate and tell Mac how he 'really' felt combined with her 'engagement' to Mic Brumby was a difficult subject for him to consider in any detail without a migraine headache. Now things were really spinning out of control on a personal level.  
  
The Video Princess had the full court press on for a commitment; one-time lover Kate Pike was coming back to Washington, along with Meg Austin, the star of some very vivid fantasies. "Jesus! I really would like to be the President's picture on the wall just to see how this will all work out," Harm thought. "Because I really don't want to face all of my 'issues' at once anymore than I want to be the Chief Piñata for the CAG in this mystery program.  
  
"Cocktails with the Admiral at the O-Club should be interesting."  
  
Mac was entertaining some of the same thoughts and concerns less than 50' and more than a world away in her office.  
  
'I'm tired, just tired of Mic hovering over me. I'm tired of the constant polite wrangling about a wedding. I'm tired of constantly fencing with Harm, and I'm really tired of watching Renee try to drag Harm by the nose.or some other appendage (Oops! Red Light Colonel. Where the hell did that come from?)'  
  
Mac shoved back from her desk dumping a stack of files on the floor as she spun the chair around to look out the window. "Fuck it! Just fuck it! I've been pussy footing around everybody for so long I have lost track of who I am, and I am going to fix that starting now. A move to the Med may be the best thing to come along, because by the time I am through 'fixing' my life storming some God damn beach may be a walk in the park."  
  
With that she grabbed her cover and briefcase and walked smartly out of her office and right into Harmon Rabb's face.  
  
"I guess this means you are ready to leave for the Navy Yard." "Yea. I guess so. Shit I'm sorry Harm. Are you okay?  
  
With that the two 'partners' disentangled themselves, picked up their scattered gear, and headed for an informal chat with their commander, friend, and mentor. 


	4. Social Climbing

1755 EST, April 15, Washington Navy Yard, Washington, DC  
  
Harm held the venerable Officer's Club door open for Mac as they walked into the historic old building, and they were greeted by one of the attendants. "Commander, Colonel, RADM Chegwidden would like you to join him in the in the bar. May I show you the way?"  
  
More than 200 years of U. S. Naval history was embodied in the club art work, design, and ambience, and Harm and Mac could not help but feel a little of the history. The Admiral's selection of the meeting location certainly opened the partners' minds to a little historical perspective as they were escorted to an alcove table off to the side of the main bar.  
  
"Mac, Harm welcome. I am glad you were able to make it up river in all of the traffic," the tall flag officer said as he stood to greet his friends.  
  
"Thank you sir. We appreciate the invitation. I don't think Mac or I have been in the club in years. In fact, I can't remember being here," Harm said. "Yes sir," Mac spoke up. "I have been through the club at Eighth & I a time or two since I have been in Washington, but I have never been here. It reminds me a little of a museum and a bar."  
  
"Well it is a little of both, and it is the center of gravity for the Navy's high-level scuttlebutt and rumor generation. You are both here this evening for several reasons. You are going to get a practical lesson or two in Navy politics, and you are going to walk away from this conversation into new worlds. I hate to see you go, but it was time, I guess, to break up the JAG team and get a little new blood into the system."  
  
Once drinks were ordered, Glenfiddich for the Admiral, Crown Royal for the Commander, and club soda with lime for the Colonel, the senior officer turned to the business at hand.  
  
"Harm, you are here tonight to 'see and be seen' as troubling as that may sound. You are jumping from the courtroom into the center ring of 21st Century naval politics and you have a starring role. Tom Boone is the headman of a group charged with reviewing and revising the Naval establishment from the bottom up, but you will be the guy who sets the agenda and controls the flow of facts and information. Every son of a bitch and his brother, or sister, will try to work you. Every word you say will be parsed syllable-by-syllable to see what you are thinking, or more importantly what Tom Boone is thinking.  
  
"Of all of the services the Navy is the most tradition bound, Harm, and you are about to be a key player in a process that should turn a lot of tradition on its ear. With that in mind, 'Captain', it will be important for you to appear to have friends in high places to go along with your well- chronicled 'closeness' to Sen. Latham. So, for at least the next few weeks you and I will be seen together on a fairly regular basis. It will be a big help if it looks like you are close to the new guy in the SECDEF's shop that is coordinating the overall DOD bottom-up.  
  
"Once the Boone board files its report someone will have to implement the suggestions that pass muster with SECDEF, SECNAV, and the White House. The President will take the political heat, but it will be the Navy's responsibility to make the changes. Think about that for a minute Harm. Tom Boone is going back to Montana when his job is done. He'll be hunting or fishing, and someone else will have the con on this program. That could be you.  
  
"Harm, you come from a long tradition of Naval service. You know where this could be heading. I can see you as the first of the Rabb family to wear stars.  
  
"The flip side: The aviation lobby, submarine mafia, the Corps, and everybody else will also probably remember how you screwed them over. Careers are made, or lost, over this kind of deal.  
  
"Let me quote Tom Boone on Harmon Rabb for just a moment: 'Harm's a pain in the ass. He's always convinced he's right. His ego won't fit in the hangar deck of the Patrick Henry. Once he's made up his mind about something he has a terrible time changing course. That's not all bad. His new job, our job, is about how our service fits into the 21st century; it's about what we must do to continue to serve, and it's about how we will serve and with what. That's pretty profound stuff, and hard decisions will be made. Staying the course will be a bastard, and it's going to take people who can take criticism, and turn it aside because they know they are right. Harm is that kind of guy. I knew he had a big future 10 years ago, but he could be CNO in a few years with the jump start this will give his career.'  
  
"Harm, that is good stuff, and Boone is not one to throw around that kind of BS without serious thought."  
  
Chegwidden turned his attention to Sarah Mackenzie. "Mac, the Cliff's Notes version of your new assignment is that you have been dumped into a toilet with a small scrub brush. Webb briefed me in this afternoon on how fucked up things are at 3rd MEU, and it's ugly. Blackwater Buckner is the new boss and he's been told to shape that operation up soonest. I've known the general for years and he is one helluva Marine. The intel problem you are walking into can be fixed according to Webb, but you are going to have to fire a ton of people, figure out what and whom you can trust, and get that situation squared away. Webb is sending a liaison person who has his complete trust.  
  
"Intelligence at this level is just like preparing for a difficult trial. You are responsible for piecing a mass of little pieces into a big picture. Mac, it's an art.just like litigation. Webb's a spymaster who trades in information. It will be your job to integrate that product into 'evidence' and into a coherent, usable package of guidance.  
  
"Clay will have a batch of information for you when you report for duty, but he's not going to share anything until all of the old staff has been ditched. It's probably Webb's well-developed sense of paranoia, but he is firmly convinced that anything that goes to into the 3rd goes right out the door to the highest bidder. The Agency and NCIS is working that deal. Don't get involved.  
  
"That's the bad medicine. Here's the good news. There will be a guaranteed promotion and a move to a very attractive spot that has been a gateway to flag rank in the past.if you get through the mess in the Med.  
  
Harm and Mac were both surprised by their usually taciturn commander. Normally a man of few words, A. J. Chegwidden had offered the two officers a view of the future that was hard to fathom, and he had more to say.  
  
"There are two items of business remaining on tonight's agenda that apply to you two. First some practical career guidance from an old man:  
  
"Harm, you are about to sail into some really troubled waters and the seas are going to get rough fast. Tom Boone is a man who is not afraid of a fight with the establishment. It will be your job to be sure the rules of engagement are clear, and to watch his flanks and his back. The Navy has to prepare to protect American maritime interests in a new world, and that will require a different force structure than we have today. That will be a big change. That will upset a lot of apple carts. A lot of important people will be unhappy. Watch your step.  
  
"As an added bonus, The Agency, Webb, the NSC, and the British are absolutely convinced there will be trouble in the Middle East or the Med in the near future. You will be up to your ass discussing changes in the force structure, mission, means and methods in the face of a potential regional war. Sound like fun?  
  
"Webb is persuaded that someone in the Middle East will move on American interests while the Washington establishment is running around in circles trying to figure out the new President. Mac, that is the reason Gen. Buckner has been moved to the 3rd MEU. He's a fighter. He knows the players in the region, and his reputation from the Desert Storm days will serve him well.  
  
"The chaos in the Balkans is a sideshow that may get messy, in his opinion, but the real risk is in the Gulf. That is where American critical interest resides. That's the Third's area of operations. Be ready, or better put: Get ready. Fast. If the balloon goes up in the Gulf again it will be a far different show than the last one, and it potentially could go critical faster and in a more profound way.  
  
"Now, on a personal front. I hate to see the two of you leave jobs you are so good at, but it's important that you stretch yourselves. You have both outgrown your present billets and will be seriously challenged by new jobs and responsibilities. When you leave Falls Church you are going to move into separate chains of command. I trust that you each clearly understand what that means personally.  
  
"Mac, Harm, I am going to say this quickly then we are going to move smartly onto serious war stories, tall tales and sea stories for the balance of the evening. But I want you two to listen closely..  
  
"All of your friends have a heck of a time seeing you two marching off in separate directions all of the time hiding behind some bullshit regulation about fraternization. Unlike Harriett, I don't know if I can see you two walking hand-in-hand off into the future, but damnit you both need to clear the air about your personal lives and your relationship with each other.  
  
"Harm, how many times have you stuck your neck way into a noose for Mac since the O'Hara debacle. Remember what I told you at the airport in Sydney about not looking back? I can tell you that was garbage. Also take a moment and purge my cautionary note after the White House ceremony over your DFC. You and Mac don't work together any more.  
  
"Mac, I understand Webb's Russian freelance cabdriver and part-time spy asked you a critical question on the second crazy ass trip to follow Harm into the dragon's mouth. Something about 'How many artillery attacks have you driven through for your fiancée?'  
  
"I don't propose to have any idea about what should happen next. But I will give you a piece of final advice. Life is not a dress rehearsal for some future play. You only go around once, so grab what joy you can because it's gone all too soon.  
  
"Enough of the maudlin crap . . . " 


	5. Old Friends and New Locations

1400 Local, May 4, Falls Church, VA  
  
"Admiral on deck!" Gunny Galindez barked as Rear Admiral (Upper Half) Tom Boone stepped into the JAG bullpen.  
  
"As you were. Gunny, is Capt. Rabb in his office?" the highly decorated flag officer asked. "Yes sir he is. May I show you the way?" "No, gunny. That will not be necessary. I have been in that office more times that I want to remember." With that RADM Boone walked off toward the largest of the glass walled offices on the opposite side of the bullpen.  
  
Victor Galindez, Gunnery Sgt., USMC, could not help but think, "Jesus. There's a tough guy if there ever was one" as the admiral knocked on Harm's door. "I know that's the captain's new boss, but I am not sure I would want to have to report bad news."  
  
Without raising his head Harm signaled the guest at his door to come in with the wave of a hand. "I'll be right with you as soon as I finish this up." "That's fine. I can wait." The visitor's voice snapped Harm to attention so quickly that he almost dumped his chair over backward. "Sir, I'm sorry!"  
  
"Don't worry about it Harm," Adm. Boone said as he smiled at his long- time acquaintance and periodic defender. "If I had wanted to be piped aboard I would have let you know I was coming. How are things going with getting wrapped up here?  
  
"The last couple of cases are on the downhill slide sir. I should be completely out of a job here within the week," Harm said. "I have also been getting a ton of paperwork, staff studies, and briefing invitations since the ball started rolling. I really haven't had a chance to get into much of the paperwork, but as soon as I have that last of these briefs filed I will climb into the ring with the paperwork monster."  
  
"Harm, don't worry about it right now. There will be more than enough time to try to digest staff work later. The main things I want you to do for me 'right now' are finish here; take a few days leave to clear your head; round up some administrative help, get current in a Plastic Bug (F/A- 18), and read some military history. Once the last of the administrative bullshit is out of the way I'm going to stick you on a very fast track, and I don't want to have you focused on anything other than the work at hand.  
  
"Captain, I don't want to wave the flag at you here, but if our work is done right we will alter the course of US naval history. The damn cold war is over, and in many ways the world is a more dangerous place because of it. And to make it worse right now we have too many senior officers who are still getting ready to fight the Red Banner fleet, nuke the 'Commies' or storm ashore on some beach on the Kamchatka Peninsula and that war, thank God, was over before the shooting really started.  
  
"Get your shit together Harm. We have a ton of work ahead. I want your recommendations for staff postings, budget projection, and a general work plan before you take off on leave. Oh, before I forget, 'welcome on board.'"  
  
For the first time in years Harmon Rabb was confronted with the real possibility that he was in way over his head and it was time to swim for shore. A rain-soaked night trap on a pitching deck with a damaged Tomcat really looked good right now. At least there a thousand administrative details were not likely to kill him with a million paper cuts.  
  
It was time for some serious mentoring. "Tiner, is the Admiral busy?"  
  
1400 Local, May 4, At sea with the 3rd MEF  
  
"Mac, we've got responsibility all the hell over this end of the Med and the upper end of the Persian Gulf and very little in the way of home- grown analysis of the situation. All of the deep thinkers in Washington and at 6th Fleet seem to be busy on something else. We need to grab all of the assets we can assemble and get a current threat analysis done yesterday," Lt. Gen. Ben "Blackwater" Buckner said to his new G-2. "The intelligence operation here has been a mess. I don't think we are hurting for information . we're hurting for coherent analysis. And the Southern Command feather merchants at McDill are too busy soaking up the Florida sun to help much on this side of the world.  
  
"Now that we are a little more sure that we are secure you need to crank your troops up for some real analysis. Our threat board looks like the one in the Pentagon because we are just using their guidance. We need to do more in theater. Remember, the 'deep thinkers' didn't think the Japs would bomb Pearl Harbor or the Nut of Baghdad invade Kuwait.  
  
"We're now in a position to directly receive more of the intelligence take from NSA and others. We need to update our contingency plans and be a lot surer we are looking at the most realistic possibilities.  
  
"Get after it Colonel. Also, good job in cleaning up after your predecessor. Jesus that was a disaster. How many people did you salvo off after you and the JAG from Naples got done?"  
  
"Twenty-six, Sir, and we're still a little short handed after that blood letting. Has COMMEDFOR recovered from his near stroke yet?" Lt. Col. Sarah Mackenzie inquired with a straight face.  
  
"Yeah, Mac. He's recovered but I don't think that pansy-assed Air Force one-button he's got running the intelligence operation will ever get over it. In fact, there's a rumor that some Washington hot shot from Foggy Bottom or Langley was seriously talking about having him court marshaled for dereliction. The general also said that the Washington gunslinger asked about you."  
  
'Well, well. Clayton Webb is still the master spook,' Mac thought. 'His family is so well known in conservative political circles I'm surprised he's still in the field and not in some big office.'  
  
"Mac, I don't want to kill your afternoon. Thanks for the update. You are dismissed."  
  
Later Sarah Mackenzie sat at her desk and took a moment to think back over the last few weeks. Professionally it had been almost a mind-altering experience. The jump from the relatively well ordered world of JAG to the fleet and into a highly visible intelligence posting was almost enough to cause a nose bleed. When she reported for duty with the 3rd MEU the intelligence shop was a mess. The commander had been fired. Most of the troops were either poorly trained or under motivated to perform. And to top things off no one had a handle on what the 3rd was really in the Med to accomplish or what they were really capable of for that matter.  
  
Mac had been set back for a couple of days while she processed how deep the swamp she now commanded was before moving out. Things were not great now, but at least the intelligence operation was handling information, building a clearer understanding of the risk situation in their area of operations, and taking a detailed look at their likely scenarios of deployment. Now, if the region's lengthy list of political extremists, religious radicals, and nuts in general would just not do anything stupid for the next few weeks maybe we will really have our shit together, she thought.  
  
Now, if things on the personal front were just a little better life would be okay. Not great, but at least okay.  
  
The last few days in Washington before heading to the Med had been a roller coaster ride of epic proportions. Her tenuous engagement had collapsed from the weight of the baggage both parties were toting; a growing personal relationship with her long-time partner had been caught up in a swirl of white water involving too many old partners, job-related hyper stress, and just general confusion and fatigue.  
  
Sarah Mackenzie had to uproot her entire life, leave a job she loved, travel half way around the damn world, move into a new home about the size of the average bathroom ashore, salvage a sensitive intelligence position, and look good in the process. "My world. Welcome to it. Shit!" Having her professional life turned inside out was part of the job; having her personal life come unraveled was another story.  
  
Mac's thoughts turned to Harmon Rabb and their chilly parting as she looked over the azure, calm ocean. "Where is all of this going to wind up?" As Mac stood watching the gently moving sea her mind could not help but slip back in time and think about the last few weeks in Washington.  
  
April 19, Washington, DC  
  
The last few days had not been easy. Her fiancée had flipped out over the transfer insisting that she resign her commission and stay in the states. When Mic pushed the issue she pushed back and the conversation got heated. After both people vented their respective pent up supply of invective, Mac pulled the engagement ring off her left hand, flipped it at Mic Brumby's feet and walked the hell out of the door.  
  
An unsuspecting Harm found her several hours later sitting on the couch in his apartment with an open Stoli bottle on the table and a drink sitting along side quietly sweating onto the glass tabletop. "Mac? Are you okay, Mac?"  
  
"Yeah. Fucking Peachy. I really can't describe how peachy things are. In fact if it got any better you would have to medicate me just to stand the fucking joy. How has your day been?"  
  
Harm was rarely at a loss for words, but Mac's little speech, coupled with the virtually toneless delivery stopped him cold. His partner rarely swore, and when she was upset she very seldom expressed herself in a voice so completely devoid of emotion. 'What the hell do I now?' So, he simply did what Mac had done so frequently over the years when he was teetering on the brink. He walked on into the loft, pulled his jacket off, and just sat down beside her pulled her onto his shoulder.  
  
"Mac, I'm here for you." Then the brittle cover Sarah Mackenzie had pulled over her life shattered into a million tears, and Harm was reduced to patting her back and whispering that it would be okay. As he was trying to comfort his partner he couldn't help but think about better times. After a bit Mac started to get her composure back, or at least regain a little emotional balance and awareness of where she was.  
  
"Harm, how long have you been here? How did you get in?"  
  
"Mac, you were sitting on my couch when I walked into my apartment. When did you get here? More importantly, what's wrong?"  
  
Without looking up Mac rambled on:"In no particular order, I really don't know how long I have been here. I must have wondered around the district for a couple of hours and just seemed to wind up here and used my emergency key to get in. I'm here because I can't think of any other place to be; other than under the bar at McMurphy's and Larry ran me out of there. I think coming here was his idea."  
  
Harm thought he knew Sarah Mackenzie like the inside of a book, but as he stared at the shell of a person sitting along side he decided he didn't know anything about his long-time partner and best friend, then the 'what's wrong question was answered with a lightning bolt between his ears. "Mac, Sarah, what did Mic do? What has happened over the last 48 hours while I was in Norfolk?"  
  
Sarah Mackenzie was seldom at a loss for words, but the language just failed her. The tears started again, partially because of frustration, partially because of the sense of loss. More than anything else the bitterest tears were caused by anger directed internally because of the nearly empty Stoli bottle and externally because things were just soooo fucked up.  
  
"Harm, I'm really sorry about just showing up. Mic and I had a four- star fight about my transfer. I already had a belly full of his attitude and that was just the last damn straw. I really don't remember a lot of what was said, but I have a very clear memory of the look on his face when I threw the engagement ring at him and walked out the door. After that things get a little misty," Mac explained when she got a grip on her emotions again.  
  
"I really needed to get away. I really didn't want a drink, and I really don't need to be here unloading another load of garbage on your doorstep. I'll just . . . ."  
  
"Mac, you won't do anything. You will sit down, and you will depressurize," Harm ordered as his partner started to pull herself off the couch. "It's been years since you seriously practiced your DWI technique, and I really don't want to have to bail your happy ass out of the lockup."  
  
The sharp needle of Harm's comment hurt Mac to the core, but when she turned around to lash out the Cheshire cat smile on her partner's face took most the sting out of the moment. "Counselor one of these days your Alligator mouth is going to seriously overload your leaky little boat and that damn smile is not going to get you out of trouble."  
  
"You're probably right Mac," Harm said, "but right now I'm betting I could take you in an unfair fight. No joking now. You don't need to be on the street. You don't need to be home alone, and for sure you don't need another hit or two off the Stoli.  
  
"For Christ's sake also don't get all maudlin either. It sounds like you have had one to many life changes dumped into your lap and popped a circuit breaker. I'll find you a set of sweats and you can crash on the couch tonight and we will try to find some way to 'fix' things in the morning."  
  
LTC Mac Mackenzie, old school USMC and Silver Star winner, was AWOL. Sarah Mackenzie, gold medal winner in the 2001 screwed up life competition was just too tired to fight it anymore. She took the sweats and t-shirt from Harm as he headed for bed, changed and crashed into a heap on the couch. As she drifted into the arms of vodka-induced sleep she was overtaken by the idea that yet again she had turned to the only person, other than her Uncle Matt, who would take her in, make her mad, take away most of the anger with a smile or a joke, and tell her that somehow they would 'fix' things tomorrow when she climbed full of shame back onto the proverbial wagon - Harmon Rabb. Shit!  
  
0230 Local, April 20  
  
Something, the different surroundings, movement, a funny noise, something soaked through the haze and Mac opened her eyes to very quietly look around to see (1) where she was, (2) what the hell was going on, and (3) something else. Silhouetted in the dim light was the tall shadow of a familiar figure pulling an Afghan up to cover her in the cool room. The conversation that followed was classic: "Huh? What the hell? Harm? Oh shit."  
  
"Be quiet Mac. You were cold as a clam. Now go back to sleep." With that she slid back into the darkness only to be rousted from sleep before dawn by the call of nature. Coming out of the bathroom Mac looked at her partner sleeping soundly, and it was just more that she was ready for. The hangover, the mess in her life, the uncertainty waiting in the Med, moving away from the one guy she knew who accepted her virtually unconditionally. It was just too much right now.  
  
Mac pulled the covers back and slid into bed with Harm slowly. She curled up against his back and went to sleep again this time more deeply.  
  
0715 Local, April 20  
  
Mac's day in the Rabb household started with a bang. More accurately it with a crash (something shattering against the bedroom wall) followed by shouting, slamming doors and then a thundering return to silence. 'What the hell happened?' Mac asked herself as she tried to fight off the effect of the now fully developed hangover and she climbed out of the bed. 'Harm's bed? Oh, shit!'  
  
Mac navigated out into the living room to find Harm staring at the door with a very strange expression on his face. "Harm, what, what happened? Are you okay?"  
  
"Oh, yeah, Mac. I'm fine. The flying vase didn't hit me. The bookend just hit the mirror, not me. And, thank Christ, Renee does not carry a gun, so I didn't get shot. I guess I really am okay. How do you feel?" Harm obviously wasn't hitting on all cylinders, and Mac really was having a hard time focusing on the here and now. "Okay. Harm I'm really trying now. What happened?"  
  
"The short version: Renee flew back from the coast on the Red Eye and let herself in. The noise from the door woke me up, and I sat up just as we both saw you asleep - in my bed. Then the shit hit the fan. It was a show. For a little girl she put on one whale of a performance, and I'll bet she didn't learn some of the language at the UCLA Film School. I don't want to think about the long version right now, but I think it's a safe bet that she's busy making reservations on the 9 o'clock flight back to LA right now," Harm said with a shrug at the end as he turned to face Mac. "That's about as good as it gets at this hour. I'm going to start the coffee, take a shower, then see what else the morning will hold. At least it's Saturday and I don't have the duty, so I'm hoping the rest of the morning will unfold uneventfully. Give me 15 minutes to trot through the shower then that end of the apartment is all yours."  
  
The full meaning of the morning's slam-bang start was finally starting to soak through to Mac. "Renee? Goddamn, Harm I didn't . . . ." The rest of the thought evaporated. 'Isn't this lovely.' Mac managed to reason as the coffee pot bubbled into life. 'I'm going to stagger into the kitchen, pour about half of the fucking coffee down my throat along with a batch of drain cleaner and pray for a quick and merciful death,' and with that another day of the Harm and Mac saga started.  
  
Things did not improve dramatically over the balance of the weekend, but life in general did look a little better by Monday morning at least until Staff Call kicked the new week, Mac's last week at JAG, off.  
  
April 22, Falls Church, VA  
  
"Attention. Admiral on deck!"  
  
"Good morning Gunny. As you were people." The Admiral took his seat at the head of the table and surveyed the senior staff. "It occurs to me that this the last time we will all be around this table as a team. Mac's last day is Friday, and I am guessing that Captain Rabb will start spending more time on his new assignment in the near future. So, Mr. Roberts you will start having to pick up some of the slack in addition to your current caseload, and our new people will start reporting for duty today.  
  
"Harriett, please be sure we have everything under control for CDR Pike and LCDR Austin this morning; Gunny, effective immediately you will be reassigned to the investigations section. You're going to be short-handed for a bit, but we do not want NCIS poaching on JAG territory.  
  
"To handle the last of the scuttlebutt issues, there is no news on the new JAG. The Chief, SECNAV, and BUPERS are still beating the bushes. Once there is something concrete I will let you know, so don't let your imaginations get out of control." With that the morning's business was started.  
  
Staff Call broke up just over an hour later, and as everyone was heading across the bullpen for coffee refills Kate Pike walked through the door and back into Harm's life. Literally. Or at least into his arms when he made the turn out of the kitchen. The coffee went one way, and the two officers wound up tangled in a huge, attention-getting hug.  
  
"God, Harm. I've been waiting for a big hug from you, but I didn't expect it right now," Kate laughed as both officers disentangled themselves. "Damn, you look good, particularly for a guy being exiled to the Pentagon. I've got to make my manners with the Admiral. Take me to lunch and we'll get back up to speed," Kate breezed as she hustled off to the Admiral's office.  
  
Mac watched the show with ill-concealed interest while Harm watched Kate's rolling walk toward Tiner's desk. "Okay flyboy. Cage those eyeballs and reboot your mind. We've got to get the final report drafted on the Feinberg incident before noon or we will both be in trouble."  
  
Meg Austin's late afternoon arrival, after Harm's lengthy lunch with Kate Pike, wasn't as dramatic, but just as physical and emotional. The tall Texan had reported to the Admiral before Harm and Kate returned from lunch, and when she walked out into the bullpen she made a beeline for Harm's office. Through the open door and two strides to the desk Meg all but jumped into Harm's lap. "Heads up. Incoming! Where's my welcome back hug Captain?"  
  
The laughter that followed echoed through the office and into Mac's consciousness. 'Damn. I guess the entire club is here. I can't wait to see how this all works out now that two of Harm's old partners are back in the fold.' Despite her best efforts not to delve into how Kate Pike and Meg Austin fit into the complicated picture that was Harmon Rabb, the investigator in Mac had developed a very interesting story line.  
  
When Harm and Kate were partners their incendiary relationship was the worst kept secret in Washington, a city known for not keeping confidential matters confidential very long. In fact, it was widely accepted that Kate's departure from JAG to a high profile NATO job was her reward for leaving quietly rather than stick around as a potential embarrassment to the incoming JAG - one A. J. Chegwidden.  
  
Meg Austin was another story. In fact the lack of a clear story line was startling. Harmon Rabb had been linked at one time or another with virtually every single female who passed through the JAG headquarters operation. In fact there was a particularly interesting story about Harm's short relationship with Harriett before she and Bud got hooked up.  
  
No one could tell a verifiable Rabb/Austin story, but everyone who worked with or around the two officers was convinced there was a lot more fire than smoke in that relationship. Webb even offered the offhanded observation that Meg's sudden departure from JAG was the price paid for a long weekend in Maine.  
  
'Sarah stop this,' Mac mentally shouted at herself. 'You are looking at Kate Pike and Meg Austin like they are they are poaching on your turf. Why? Either someone has been seriously spiking your catnip or you are bordering on being jealous of two women and their relationship with a man you have just barely been able to call a friend at times as recent as a few weeks ago. This is such bullshit. You've got to get a grip and hang on for a few more days.'  
  
Looking at her reflection in the window Mac's pragmatic side knew this was all true. If Harm was interested long term in Kate Pike that would have been a 'done deal' long ago. Meg Austin was another story. The tall blonde Texan just looked sooo good. 'Sarah. Stop this now.' 


	6. Troubles Grow

0715 Local, June 10, At sea with the 3rd MEU

                "At the present time, it does not appear that any of the prime potential trouble makers is moving toward making any immediate mischief, but Iraq is still playing hide-and-seek with a lot of hardware that could be deployed fairly quickly. And the terrorist drums are continuing to beat more loudly in all of the fundamentalist countries," Mac concluded. "We are getting indications about movement in the terrorist area, but, frankly, nothing that can be pinned down. There may be more to talk about after the Naples meeting the first week of July."

                "Good briefing, Mac," Blackwater Buckner said before turning to the rest of the expeditionary unit's senior leadership. "Ladies, gentlemen, here's an old marine's gut opinion: Something is coiling the main spring. We're going to see something kick loose before the New Year, I'll promise you. And, I'll bet Mac's pension that it will be a terrorist headline event…like the Cole or Kobahr Towers. 

                "Bill (Col. White, executive officer) get with and S-3 and S-4 and let's take a look at updating our contingency plans for action in Iraq against known WMD sites. Mac, make it a priority to get as much current information on our friends in Afghanistan as possible. If 'The Big O' makes a move Washington will want to have solid options from the field that can augment the canned response alternatives the JCS cloud gazers come up with.

                "Thank you folks. Let's go to work….Also, Mac stick around for a second."

                The general and the colonel looked at each other for a few moments while the room emptied. As soon as the hatch was secured Gen. Buckner updated his intelligence chief on some additional news. "Mac, we're leaving the Med for the Gulf. Our passage through the Suez Canal is scheduled in something like 72 hours. Once in the Gulf we will head for Bahrain and get the troops a few hours of shore leave. 

                "You need to get a ride over the Stennis and catch the afternoon COD to Naples. The Brits have dug up some shit about Big O that's got them puzzled and they've called for a joint intelligence working group meeting in the morning. Be there. Keep your ears open and as much as possible your mouth shut. CENTCOM is sending some golden boy to get a theater update that's designed, from what I hear, to allow them to support their current dream of peace in our time…or at least in this part of the world. 

                "Since The Bear retired no one at MacDill wants to believe we're looking down the barrel of a loaded gun here, and we're going to be the first ones hit when the damn thing goes off."

                On that _encouraging_ note Mac took her leave and returned to her office to make the necessary arrangements to get a hop to the Stennis and a ride on to Naples. While she was talking with the ops people at the bird farm her secure e-mail flashed. A couple of mouse clicks later a message from 'Assistant Secretary' Webb appeared from the encryption program. 

                'Mac, I will see you in the morning in Naples. In addition to the Brit's material our sources have some tidbits that you need to be aware of. Also, I bring greetings from Harm and the Admiral. – Clay'

                Greetings from Harm? That should be interesting Mac thought. Particularly in view of the fact that one of the last conversations, if you would dare call it that, Harm and Mac had prior to her departure from Washington was liberally laced with sarcasm, catty comments about the Harmon Rabb Fan Club, and a final, "Goddamn you Harm!"

April 28, 2030 Local, Washington, DC 

_                As farewell dinners went this had been exceptional. The conversation was light and fun. The meal – at one of Washington's legendary waterfront establishments – had been memorable. A horse-drawn carriage ride into Georgetown was incredibly romantic, and Mac was well prepared to execute her plan to entice Harm into bed…it would have to be his bed since her's was now in storage.  It was perfect. Head on the shoulder, exotic perfume, inflammatory unmentionables, hand on the thigh…. It was perfect when they ducked into an M Street club to listen to a little music before calling it a night._

_April 28, 2115 Local, The Blue Note, Georgetown, Washington, DC_

_                The wheels fell off the Mac's seduction wagon with just five words out of Meg Austin's mouth. "Hey! It's Harm and Mac!" With that the cozy table for two turned into an impromptu going away party with the gold dust twins – a name Meg and Kate Pike picked up along the way – leading the parade. The fact that Meg, Kate, and Lauren Singer, had somewhere along the way picked up the Roberts family and Sturgis Turner made it all the better…for most of the group._

_                Singing, more beer, and more conversation were really pretty neat, Mac thought. Everybody wished her well in her new assignment and told tall tales until the band started up again. A few couples headed for the small dance floor, and that really got things started. After a dance with Mac, as the ad hoc guest of honor, there was more beer. It was generally decided, or at least Meg and Kate decided, that Harm and Sturgis had to dance with everybody._

_                A very proper turn around the dance floor with Harriett Roberts led to a dance with Lauren that came off without incident. The beat then turned more Latin…with Meg and Kate just back from Spain and Italy and well into the evening's refreshment… the courtesy dances that Mac was prepared to endure turned into…well they turned into an event._

_                When the music started Meg and Kate swapped glances across the table; Kate grabbed Harm's hand and led him to the dance floor. The late hour (0030 if you were keeping score), the drink(s), and the Latin music all conspired to lead to a very hot floorshow starring a smoking Kate and a dazzled Harm. It didn't get better when the band picked up on the idea that there were some people in the crowd that loved Latin music and followed with a tango._

_                The 'tango' that Meg lead Harm through took the breath out of most of the males in the bar, and about half way through the performance Mac grabbed her purse and headed for the door. As the music ended Harm and Meg took their bows as the audience went a little nuts. Mac's red dress caught Harm's attention as she vanished toward the street._

_                "Mac," Harm called as she headed for the cabstand at the corner. "Wait up!" "Well, well, if it isn't the 'dancing flyboy.' I'm surprised you managed to tear yourself away from the roar of the crowd…or at least the Gold Dust twins. Couldn't you decide which way to lean? Maybe both?  I mean, shit, what else could have made the evening better?"_

_                "Mac, what are you talking about?" Harm asked. "We were all just having fun…." "Harm, I'm going back to your apartment and locking myself in the bedroom. I'll assume that you can find your way back in time to haul me to Andrews in the morning. If not…." Then the tears started. "Goddamn you Harm!" The cab door slammed, and that was that._

_                'Wonderful. Fucking wonderful,' Harm thought as he returned to the Blue Note. Once inside Harm started making the rounds planning to say good night. Harriett, who had seen Mac storm out, took one look at Harm's expression as he walked over to she and Bud. "Harm, you've messed up big time this time out, and I don't think the 'Flyboy Grin' will save your ass tonight. And, if you leave here with either Kate or Meg I will personally kill you.  Get out. Go home. Get yelled at, but get this over with. Mac was looking forward to a last evening with you before heading out tomorrow, but I don't think this was what she had in mind. _

_                "Let me put it another way big guy, 'You've fucked up. You've flipped her evening over.'  Now you are both going to have to deal with the fallout. Love 'ya have a great evening." And with that Harriett walked back to the table and Harm walked out to find a ride back to his car._

_0115, April 29, Washington, DC_

_                A single light was on in the kitchen when let himself into the apartment. The bedroom door was closed, and he wasn't about to try it fearing for his life. The couch was made up. His sweats were stacked neatly. It was bedtime. _

_                On the other side of the bedroom door Mac had forced herself into a restless, dream filled sleep…alone._

_0630, April 29, Washington, DC_

_                The smell of coffee lifted Mac out of bed and into the kitchen where she found Harm stooped over looking into the refrigerator. "The aspirin is in the bathroom," Mac sniped. "Or, are you looking for an ice pack?" "Neither. I'm looking for the juice pitcher that got shoved into the back. How are you this morning? Better?" "Not really," Mac said. "I can't tell you how bad you pissed me off last night, and the part that really sucks is that you probably don't know why. If you think I'm mad because you played a starring role in the Georgetown Dirty Dance Fest that's part of it. If you think I'm mad because you all but ignored me when the 'fun' got started that's part of it. But more than anything else I am mad at you…and at myself…because I wanted last night to be special; be our night because we are heading in opposite directions and out into the cold cruel world this morning. Apparently didn't match up with your plans._

_                "I said it earlier this morning, and it bears repeating: Goddamn you Harm!" With that Mac stalked out of the kitchen and into the shower._

_                The ride to Andrews was made in icy silence. When the flight was called Harm stopped Mac's walk away with a  hand on the arm. "Mac, good luck! Keep your head down" With that he took her hand and said very softly, "I'm sorry about last night. I can't tell you how sorry…." Last call interrupted, but he finished looking straight into her eyes, "Sarah, you know I love you and would not have hurt you for the world." With that he turned and walked out of the terminal. _

_                "Goddamn you Harm!"_

1330 Local, June 11, a small café, Naples

                "Mac, the package you will have waiting for you when you head out will be about all that I have that's new.  Something is going to happen. I don't know what or where, but it's important to remember that," Clayton Webb said in concluding the business portion of the day's activities. "Now, let's have a wonderful lunch and let me pass along the news from home before you leave.

                "The Admiral sends his best. He's really getting into his new project. I would not be surprised if he doesn't try to grab you when you get clear here. His current chief of staff hasn't been able to keep some of the key players in the Navy's portion of the program on the reservation so to speak. Boone and Rabb run all over the poor guy and it takes a lot of Chegwidden's time to keep them more or less under control.

                "Speaking of that dynamic duo, I don't know of anyone that isn't furious with them over something or another. They appear not to believe many of the sacred mantras the Navy holds dear, so they keep calling for more innovative methods and plans. What's a Pentagon planner to do if he can't just go back to some old page of the playbook and prepare for tomorrow?

                "Mac, they're working or traveling 20 hours per day, and the staff must be working 25 hours a day at least eight days a week just to keep up. I saw Harm the other day, and he looked like hell. He said that he logged 50 flight hours last month and that was on top of back-to-back-to-back 70-hour workweeks. They are planning to have a first draft for Chegwidden before the end of September."

                "Clay, two questions, and you have to answer both of them," Mac followed up. "First, are you still convinced that we are seeing the spring coil…just don't know where it will release?" "Yes, Mac. Tom Boone's also convinced, and that's part of why he is driving the organization so hard. He's convinced that some tactical adjustments in means and methods will be required in the near term in addition to the longer term fundamental changes." 

                "Okay, now for the final question: How is Harm doing personally?" Clay took a long look at Mac while he marshaled his thoughts before answering. "Clay, I don't want you to spin anything for me. I want a clear, direct answer to a question that I think was fairly plain."

                "I don't know how to answer that question. Professionally he's at the top of his game. I haven't seen him more clearly focused on anything. Period. Personally, I don't have a clue. I understand that your last night was pretty rough, and that eats at him. But he really doesn't know what to do about the way things were left…or at least that is the way I read the situation," Clay ventured.

                "Mac, I'm not 'Dear Abby' and will not get involved with advice about personal matters, but, that being said, I'm really concerned about two of my limited band of friends. Both of you are working yourselves into the ground, because that's what is demanded today. But, neither of you seems to be making any effort to…I don't know…clear away the crap around your relationship. That's slowly killing both of you…." 

                "Clay, do you know what happened the night before I left?" Clayton Webb would much rather be facing the proverbial thousand deaths than the tidal wave he was sure was coming from Mac no matter how he answered that seemingly innocuous question, so he just nodded his head. "Harriett told me some of it."

                "The blow up at the club was just the preliminary event. My yelling at the walls of Harm's apartment was probably pretty special, but that damned warehouse just seemed like the perfect sounding board for how I felt. The 'morning after' exchange of nasty comments was a refreshing way to leave for this cesspool, but the cherry on top of the hot fudge sundae came at the last moment.

                "He looked me straight in the eyes said 'I love you' and walked out of the terminal without another word. Clay, I am telling you that I am at the end of the fucking rope here. Harm hasn't written. He hasn't called. Now, you show like John Alden's alter ego to check the water temperature. That's bullshit. You knew that before you got on the plane. Why didn't you just take care of business and be the efficient, heartless spy you generally are? Why did you agree to even be part of this mess? Why are you handling Harm's dirty work? Why?" Sarah Mackenzie was not about to shed any tears for Clayton Webb, but it was a near thing.

                "Okay Mac, got it all out now?"

                "No. Not by a long shot, but I'm not going to yell at you anymore. Clay, I'm sorry. I know…."

                "Mac, you don't know…at least about me or my motives right now. You and Harm are more than friends of mine. You are both much closer, and I am tired of seeing both of you like this. In fact, I'm more than tired of it. 

                "Harm's up to his ass in a huge problem with Tom Boone on his back to make things move more quickly and the entire naval establishment dragging its feet. You're up to your ass in what I am all too certain will be preparations for a war, and very few people want to open their eyes and see the possibility. You both are potentially hazarded, need emotional support, and can't, or won't get it from each other. 

                "Mac the conclusion to this little speech is this: I will have the same message for Harm when I get back to Washington that I have for you now. 'If you love, fill in the blank, then get off your damn high horse or what ever you are on and call, write, cheat the system to visit, or something. If you don't love, fill in the blank, have the good grace of a long-time friend to put this misery to an end. Now."

                Nothing, absolutely nothing prepared Mac for Webb's monologue, and when Clay finished he stood up, threw a wad of bills on the table, and walked out the door leaving Mac sitting stunned at the café table. 'Well, that certainly went nicely…."

0715 Local, June 13, The Pentagon, Washington, DC

                "Harm, the 3rd MEU's going to go to war, along with a batch of other folks, sooner rather than later in the Middle East. That's a promise based on my expensive Ivy League education, generations of Webb family spying, close association with the intelligence community, and, more importantly, based on my firmly held conviction that at least one of the band of zealots has the wherewithal to make something big go bang. Maybe even in our backyard," Webb concluded the informal briefing. 

                Turning to Tom Boone the 'Assistant Secretary' added, "The Air Force and Navy will get a lot of practice hauling scrap iron into somewhere, but this time out were going to have to get hands bloody if we're going to do anything about state-sponsored or transnational terrorism…."

                "Webb, you are right. But if we are going to be able to support a big operation a long way from home we don't have the assets…unless we strip some large-deck carrier of its air wing and mount spec-ops closely followed by massive logistical and strike support from the Army in country…and from that flight deck…unless we are prepared to invest hostile terrain with an MEU…be prepared to support that operation from long distance…and provide very close coordination with other services, allies, and vitally involved local freedom fighters," Adm. Boone summarized. "The bastards at CENTCOM and PACFLT have their heads so far up their collective asses that they won't see sunshine in this lifetime, so I don't see many of those things happening in the very near future.

                "Webb, once again you have managed to get my blood pressure up, but this time it's for a good cause. I'm on my way to the E-Ring to have a little chat with a couple of old friends who may see things in a little better light after I brief them on the 'developments' we just discussed. Harm, if you and Clay happen to wind up at the Army-Navy Club this afternoon the drinks are on me."

                "Well, that went nicely," Harm observed sourly. "You pumped the Admiral up just in time for his weekly 'chat' with the unconventional warfare group. By the time they get done I am not sure how long it will take to get him calmed back down. You know that we have got to have a first draft of the Navy's position squared away to discuss with Adm. Chegwidden before 11 September. He wants to hold a working group meeting no later than 15 September and have a final draft for the SECNAV by mid October. Jesus!

                On that note the conversation turned to more pleasant issues, at least until Clay's visit with Mac in Naples was on the table.

                "Oh, yeah. Mac was fine. She's about got things under control at the 3rd. They have moved to the Gulf, and she's trying to get a better handle on the mess down there. At least in the Gulf there's the real risk of getting shot at to help focus," Webb summarized. "But she's not a happy camper about things in general. In fact, I'm surprised she hasn't mounted a one-woman invasion somewhere just so she could go kill things."

                "Clay, I don't really want…." "Well, I don't 'really want' either, Harm, but Mac jumped into me with a vengeance in Naples day before yesterday. The conversation went something like this: 'Clay, I am telling you that I am at the end of the fucking rope here. Harm hasn't written. He hasn't called. Now, you show like John Alden's alter ego to check the water temperature. That's bullshit. You knew that before you got on the plane. Why didn't you just take care of business and be the efficient, heartless spy you generally are? Why did you agree to even be part of this mess? Why are you handling Harm's dirty work?'

                "Harm, I didn't realize I was walking into a mine field, and it would have been nice to have a little heads up before blundering into the line of fire." "Clay, I can't ever see you 'blundering' into anything…much less the line of fire," Harm chuckled.  "That's where you are wrong," Clay countered. 

                "I understood that the going away party had a few rough spots, but I did not know about the thermonuclear finish. The scene at Andrews must have also been special. Jesus Harm, what was going through your mind aside from the leftovers from the previous week's production at Boston Brewing?"

                "Whoa. Where are you heading here Clay?"

                "Harm, you and Mac are part of a very limited band of true friends I can claim, and I am tired of watching you two spar with each other. Mac pushed me to the limit in Naples driving me to a rare moment of unvarnished candor. Before I was able to pull myself away and stop yelling, I put this thought on the table:

                "Mac the conclusion to this little speech is this: I will have the same message for Harm when I get back to Washington that I have for you now. 'If you love, fill in the blank, then get off your damn high horse or what ever you are on and call, write, cheat the system to visit, or something. If you don't love, fill in the blank, have the good grace of a long-time friend to put this misery to an end. Now.

                "As I thought about it on the flight home, that was good advice in Naples, and it's certainly good advice now. This needs to be fixed. Now. I'm not bullshitting you Harm events are going to overtake you and Mac one day…maybe today. Both of you need to fix this relationship. No matter what the fix may be. Now, I'm leaving. I don't want to be around here when Boone gets back from the E-Ring. I'll see you at the Army-Navy Club this afternoon."

                Clay's departure was well timed. Tom Boone came back from his meeting spitting nails and calling lightning and thunder down on everyone in his path. "Goddamnit Harm! The only bastards in this building that understand where we are heading are the fucking Marines, and that's a sad situation. The Commandant's guy from SpecOps is really on top of the game, and we're going to have to force feed some of that thinking down the line. Here's what I want you to do…."

1815 Local, June 13, O-Club, Washington Navy Yard, Washington DC

                The tall, heavily decorated former SEAL didn't "really" smile much, but the out-of-school briefing he just received over his second superb scotch brought out an ear-to-ear beaming smile. "Tell me Teddy, Harm didn't really tell Adm. Harwell that it was time to 'either sign on to the real world or get the hell out of the way.'" "So help me God, AJ that's what he said just before he pushed back from the table, got up, and walked the hell out of the room. It was a vintage Tom Boone performance…just from a taller guy with more hair."

                'Boone and Rabb will either be at the point of the spear, or have the damn thing shoved up their asses before this over with,' Rear Admiral (upper half) A. J. Chegwidden thought.

2100 Local, June 13, Army-Navy Club, Washington DC

                The booze started flowing when they walked into the club and nearly four hours later the three men were as drunk as they probably would be…until one or the other of them just passed out. 

                "Goddamn Harm, Clay is right," Tom Boone emphasized. "The fucking nuts are going to eventually get their shit together and pop a big time cap right in our backyard…and we're going to all fall over each other trying to figure out what to do next." "Wait a minute Admiral," Harm started while backing away from the finger stuck into his chest…. "Admiral? What is this crap? We're in a damn bar. We're about to have a fight or at least a serious argument. I'm not telling you again…_Harmon_…it's CAG, Tom, boss, or shithead…not…oh, bullshit it's not worth repeating myself," Boone fumed.

                Through the thickening haze Clayton Webb saw the glimmering of an idea that could accomplish a number of objectives, some of them strictly personal. Speaking very slowly with a precision known only to the serious drinker, Clay jumped into the conversation. "Tom, Harm's been too close to the policy makers for too long. He needs to get with the implementers…to talk with the people who are going to get bloody when…if…things get ugly. Maybe it would help his, shit I don't know, his perspective to…."

                "Clay…that's an idea. Harm you're heading for Coronado to see…oh, hell who is the guy who you defended…Rivera…. Rivers. That's it Rivers. The hard assed black guy.  Anyway, tell him whatever you need to tell him…just get him started. Then head to The Gulf and get with Blackwater and his staff. Between the goddamn SEALS and the Marines deployed you should get a better picture of what's possible…and what would be needed to implement some of the shit we've been talking about."

                Even through the Crown Royal fog Harm saw the potential for a personal disaster of biblical proportions. If former lieutenant, or was it captain, Rivers didn't kill him just for practice…Mac, if he even got to The Gulf, probably would. "CAG…boss…I don't think…" That's as far as he got. "Harm. Make it so, and be out of town no later than noon Monday. I'll have the EA make the arrangements."


	7. Very Much At Sea

1325 Local, July 10, Mailman 55, FL 210

                "We're about 15 minutes out people. You all need to secure the cabin and get cinched up for the recovery," the aircraft commander told his three passengers. As the COD started its final decent Capt. Harmon Rabb finished waking up. It had been a long flight from the West Coast, and being cooped up in the COD for the last four hours on the flight up from The Rock had left him sore, stiff, and tired. 'Outpost of freedom, my ass…if Napoleon were around it would look a lot more like Elba.'

                The lengthy conversation, make that a series of conversations with Mr. Rivers and some other selected SEALS had opened Harm's mind to a world of capabilities he knew very little about. 'It's amazing. I worked for a former SEAL for years; I was involved with a couple of operations with the SEALs, but I really didn't know shit about what was possible with these people. We're got to get their capabilities moved up the food chain in more planning…and we've got to find more money for them.'

                The ungainly Greyhound slammed onto the deck of the Big John (Stennis), caught the number three wire, and was dragged to a halt. Harm's welcome to the Persian Gulf was to be hammered backward into his seat. 

                Salutes were exchanged, permission to come aboard was requested and granted, and when the formalities were complete Capt. Harmon Rabb was officially at sea with the carrier battle group that was responsible for the 3rd Marine Expeditionary Unit. His escort led the way to the CAG's office where the air group commander Capt. Richard L. Smith (USNA Class of 1979) was sitting. 'Dead Eye' Smith offered coffee and a chair after the introductions were complete. 

                "The second DFC…didn't you get that in the Balkans for some wild ass stunt pushing some other guy as crazy as you over the hill on the tail hook back before you picked up the extra stripe?" "Yes sir. Guilty as charged…. I really haven't always been a paper shuffler from the puzzle palace," Harm smiled in reply. 

                "Okay captain, how can the 3rd Airwing offer assistance? About all I know is that I got this hotshot message from Adm. Boone that you were heading into the Gulf wanting to talk to our ops people and get with the Marines." 

                "CAG, I am involved with a project that includes an assessment…" "Harm, I'm very familiar with what you and Adm. Boone are up to these days. In fact, in some circles, it's talked about incessantly…and most of the time in a very loud voice. One of the harsh realities here in The Gulf is the idea that, to a large degree we're at war, and I think you will find the thinking at this end of the spear is a little different that the thinking closer to the puzzle palace or even at MacDill. 

                "I'm going to get a little out of school here Captain, but most of the implementers and operators in the field just want clear ROE, a minimum of interference from on high, and plenty of logistical and intelligence support. We can, by God, take it from there. Now that my part of this little passion play is complete, I'm going to turn you over to Maj. Gordon…the acting exec of VMF-151…our Marine component for the balance of your time with us. I've also laid on a 1745 helo so you can get with the 3rd MEU troops." On that note Dead Eye Smith yelled for the yeoman to get Flashy (Flashy? I didn't hear that right) Gordon ASAP.

                Maj. Marjorie 'Flashy' Gordon walked into the wardroom, and held out a well manicured hand in welcome. "Flashy, this is the Pentagon hotshot that has been getting all of the bad scuttlebutt. Captain Rabb may I present Maj. Marjorie Gordon, one of the hottest Hornet drivers in the wing?" 

                Completion of the introductory formalities was automatic for all concerned, so Harm had an ample opportunity to consider the major. "Flashy" Gordon was all that, Harm thought. The 5-9 red head was the complete package, even in the baggy flight suit. 'She flies the hottest new bird in the fleet; she's the squadron exec, so she's on the ball; she's a Marine, _ergo sum_ she's for real.'

                Four fast hours on the Big John with the people at the pointed end of the spear convinced Harm that the air wing could support anything the war planners came up with as long as Dead Eye Smith's four-point needs list was met. Meeting and greeting the Navy and Marine aviators and key support people made Harm more that a little envious. These people were ready, and Harm wished with everything he had that he was with them.

                "Captain, we're need to get you geared up for the helo ride if we're going to stay with the program," Flashy Gordon interrupted. 'The helo ride is nothing,' Harm thought. 'The big problem will be swimming back to the bird farm after Mac throws me over the side. I'm not sure she even knows I'm the visitor…surely someone the passed the word about who was on the visitors list. Jesus, I wish I had taken two minutes to drop her a message, or call…or something. Well, that's water under the bridge.'

                The helo ride was quick…too quick, and a lieutenant with a big smile met the courier flight and escorted Harm to Gen. Blackwater Buckner. "General, it's a pleasure. Thank you for taking the time to see me," Harm started only to waived to a stop. "Captain, when you get a message from a man like Tom Boone you do what's asked. But, he didn't add a lot of detail about what you were looking for here. So, I really don't have a program planned for you. 

                "So, here's what I'm thinking: You can meet the staff this evening at chow; make a few informal remarks detailing how we can help you, then I will get with my ops people later to lay things out for tomorrow." 

                "Sir, that will be fine," Harm responded. "I'm sorry that you didn't get more detail, but the project Adm. Boone is working on has been on a really fast track and, to a large degree, we've been making it up on the fly." 'Speaking of making it up on the fly, how the hell am I going to talk with Mac? This should be fun to watch. I just wish I was watching, not participating.'

                Harm's escort took him to his quarters, briefed him on the staff, and said that the MEU staff dined in the general's conference room when guests were embarked. Then the lieutenant prepared to leave him with 45 minutes to kill before dinner.

                'Shit. In for a penny…in for a pound,' Harm thought. "Lieutenant, hang on for a second. Where's the intel section? The colonel is an old friend." "Col. Mackenzie? Yes sir. Please follow me."

                A short walk…about the same distance, Harm thought, as the condemned guy in The Green Mile walked…ended at a secured hatch marked Authorized Personnel Only, Armed Security In Place. When Harm saw the red Room Secure sign displayed he turned to walk back to his quarters, but his escort held up one hand while holding the phone in the other. "Yes Gunny, the Washington visitor is here and he wants to see the boss.  Okay I'll send him in. Sir, you're up. Please have your ID and security card for the guard to log when you walk into the sally port. I will see you at dinner."

                Harm stepped over the knee knocker into the sally port and passed his ID through the scuttle to the guard. A minute or so later the hatch dogs were pulled and Harm was invited into the intelligence section bullpen. "Please standby for a minute Sir, and I will tell the colonel you are here." Before the well turned out Marine could step away, Harm stopped him. "Gunny, the colonel and I are old friends, and I would like to surprise her." "Yes sir. I will tell the colonel she has a visitor. She'll be right with you."

                "Colonel, excuse me. You have a visitor from on high in the bull pen." Lost in concentration, it took Mac a second to realize the Gunny was standing at her desk. "I'm sorry Gunny. You were saying…?" "Ma'am, we have a naval visitor sporting a lot of gold braid that would like a few moments of your time." A puzzled frown crossed Mac's face. "Who's the visitor? The general said we have a hot shot coming, but he didn't have a name." "Col. Mac I didn't see his name tag. All I saw was a high level security clearance, a batch of fruit salad and an eagle."

                "Well, I guess we better not keep the Navy waiting." Mac shoved her chair back, stood, turned around, and took two steps toward the bull pen hatch before seeing a tall, familiar figure standing with his back to her. 'Jesus Christ. Now what?'

                Harm heard the footsteps on the deck and turned to look directly into Mac's dark eyes. For a moment the world just went away.  Four or five lifetimes worth of sins, omissions, oversights, and outright blunders just vanished into thin air over three or four nanoseconds. Clayton Webb's words, oddly enough, echoed through both minds, '… you need to fix this relationship. No matter what the fix may be.'

                "Captain, this is Colonel…" the Gunny started the formalities. "That's not necessary, Gunny. The Captain and I go back a long way," Mac muttered. "A long goddamn way in fact. That will be all." "Aye aye!"

                As hard as it may be to imagine, two lawyers stared at each other for at least 90 seconds each waiting for the other to say something. Finally, Harm started to chuckle; Mac giggled, then both officers broke down and laughed at the idiocy of the moment. "God it's good to see you again Marine." "You too Sailor, you too." 

                You don't rise to the rank of gunnery sergeant in the United States Marine Corps without seeing a lot, but nothing in his 16 years in uniform prepared Max O'Grady for the laughing, the big hug, or the more than friendly kiss his boss had for the Washington hotshot. "Goddamn, Mac. It's good to see you. You're not going to throw me over the side are you?" Mac was still laughing too hard to do more than shake her head at least until she snapped on her 'you are lying' face.

                "No. I'm not going to throw you over the side. The environmental impact statement would take more time than it would be worth not to mention the balance of the paperwork. Now that I've had a couple of minutes to think, I believe I will just have the Gunny shoot you. O'Grady is your side arm loaded?" When a confused O'Grady nodded, Mac looked Harm squarely in the eyes and coldly, "Then shoot the son-of-a-bitch and put him in the meat locker. I'll square it with the general later."

                For a long moment Mac held her ground and her bearing while Harm was whipsawed from one emotional extreme to another. Then Mac lost it laughing. "Jesus Harm, you should have seen your expression…expressions. I always wondered what the 'fight or flight' response looked like from the outside. Now I know."

                "Mac," Harm breathed  "I don't know about all that. Right now I'm just glad I'm not back in the water or leaking through a 9mm hole."

                Mac finally took sympathy on her really bewildered Gunny. "Max, meet Capt. Harmon Rabb, fighter pilot, lawyer, dog robber to the stars…. And the defending champion of the Georgetown Dirty Dance Festival. He's here to let us tell him all about how the 3rd MEU is going to conquer the world. We're going to also listen while he brings us up to speed on what's happening in Sodom on the Potomac over dinner."

                Then Harm shook O'Grady's hand he shook his head saying, "It's a long story Gunny. A really long story."

                Mac headed for the hatch throwing over her shoulder, "I'm wrapped up here…at least for the moment…let's take a walk. You'll love the view from the fantail."

                The walk aft was done in silence, and when the Colonel and the Captain were both looking across the hazy waters of the Persian Gulf a familiar hush settled over the scene until Harm turned to Mac. "I'm sorry…." "No, Harm, don't be sorry…about anything. Isn't that what you said months ago at the Admiral's party? I'm sorry. You're sorry. In fact we're both pretty sorry when it comes to each other aren't we? Clay is right, you know. We've got to fix whatever it is between us.  Our expectations, fears, needs, and more fears drive both of us these days, and we can't seem to get back to where we were."

                "Mac, despite Adm. Boone's effort to work me to death, I've had a lot of time to think about 'us' over the last few weeks while the autopilot drives the bird from place to place. The executive summary of all that thinking is pretty simple: I don't know where we are going and I really don't like this ride. 

                "I really can't tell anymore if we're gaining ground, getting closer, standing still, or drifting…which means further apart. From the expression on your face I am guessing that you don't want to talk this over right now, but, since I have you cornered for the moment, please listen to this:

                "Mac, I wasn't kidding when I told you that I love you when we were at Andrews. Hell, I think I have loved you since you hauled me back into the colonel's Huey out in Arizona. I mean, who wouldn't love the woman who just saved his sorry ass? Just kidding, Mac, but I really have a hard time remembering a time when I didn't love you on one level or another…"

                "Okay, Harm," Mac interrupted, "assuming for the moment that's true, how the hell did you make it look so easy to let me walk into Mic's arms? How did you manage the 'happy camper' act for all those months? Why didn't you say something…do something…anything. You just stood there with that 'I'm happy for Mac' bullshit flowing for everyone to hear. Then, out of the blue BOOM!

                "I'm getting whiplash here, Harm. The next thing out of your mouth will be, 'Mac, I didn't want to pressure you,' or 'Mac, I don't want to hurt you if something bad happens…' That's crap and you know it. In all of the years we worked together professionally you never made a decision for me or failed to consider my opinion, feelings, or thoughts. Never. Not once. But, here you made a conscious, very personal decision about what was best for me then took unilateral action on that decision leaving me wondering in the dark about what was really going on in your head…or my head.

                "Harm I have had my last sleepless night over this bullshit. The last one."

                As Mac savaged Harm he knew that the figurative ship had sailed and he wasn't on it. Once Mac wound down she would probably tell him to pound salt in his ass and walk away. He was sure of that, if she really didn't get wound up and drop kick him over the side and into the screws.

                "We've got six minutes to get back to the general's conference room for dinner, so this conversation is recessed. It's not over. Not by a long shot, Squid. Let's get moving before O'Grady gets a chance to tell his side of the story to the assembled multitude." With that Mac marched off leaving Harm scrambling to get moving.

1915 Local, July 10, At sea with the 3rd MEU

                After being introduced by Gen. Buckner Harm paused to look over the room full of Marines. "General, Col. White, ladies and gentlemen, thank you for the hospitality. I want to take a couple of minutes to talk about a critical project in progress that will chart the course of the American military in the coming years, and I want to assure each of you that your experiences, views, and opinions are vital to this work.

                "Today's world is arguably a more dangerous place than it has been at any time in modern history. The demise of the Soviet Union, coupled with the rise of dictators in Iraq, tyrants in Afghanistan, and religious radicals in many states has radically adjusted the balance of power. Our nation is at a pivotal spot in history. A military establishment fine-tuned to deflect a Soviet thrust is not the right mix of manpower, equipment, and plans for today's environment. Changes are demanded by the times, and the President has directed the Department of Defense to produce new war plans more in line with today's geopolitical realities. That's, at least in part, why I am here.

                "The Navy and Marine Corps have been tasked with preparing and presenting a drastically new force structure and material needs as part of the overall DOD effort. It has been the proud duty of the Naval establishment, the Navy and the Corps, to be the point of the sword in American diplomacy since the late 1700s, and that tradition must be kept vital, alive, and strong more than 200 years later. 

                "Our task, more accurately, my task over the next couple of days will be to draw up an overall view of how the 3rd MEU, or any MEU for that matter, can serve to advance American interests around the world. Thank you again for your hospitality, and I am looking forward to working with you." With that Harm returned to his seat and Gen. Buckner rose to speak.

                "Ladies and gentlemen Col. White will have specific assignments for you in connection with the Captain's visit at staff call in the morning. Have a good evening." As the MEU's senior leadership started to file out of the room the general motioned for his XO to stay. "Bill, yet this evening grab everyone you need to pull an in-depth presentation of our capabilities and associated needs into order. Also, we need to be sure that (a) we're not bullshitting this guy, (b) we cover our potential needs and capabilities in control of guerrilla warfare, and (c) how we would see putting the screws to the assholes in Afghanistan. 

                "The guy Rabb is a lot more than Tom Boone's caddy here. I don't know what the connection is, but when I was in Naples for the command conference three weeks ago a couple of guys from the Puzzle Palace were there and there was a lot of scuttlebutt about Boone, Rabb, and some three-star former SEAL running around stirring up shit under the direction of the SECDEF. Bill, I will bet your eagle that some serious deep kimchee is fermenting somewhere. Also, tell Mac that I want her to represent us at Comedy Central during the next intelligence assessment and review. There is a gathering of intelligence buzzards and some old crows on The Rock, so there should be some interesting tidbits floating around in the cheap scotch."

                As Blackwater Buckner was getting the 3rd MEU kicked into gear another meeting was being called to order in a safe house in Sudan. Orders were issued there also; The Sheik's bearded emissary was communicating his leader's wishes that the long-planned operations against The Great Satan would be started. The winds of change were picking up as the shadowy forces put their plans into progress.

2200 Local, July 10, At Sea with the 3rd MEU

                A familiar, comfortable quiet settled over the wardroom after the watch change, and in many ways Harm felt most at home with the rhythm of a warship underway. Several officers were glued to a taped baseball game on this ship's closed circuit TV as Mac stepped into the wardroom behind Harm as he filled his coffee cup. 

                "Hey sailor, what brings you to the coffee pot at this hour? I figured with all of the travel you would have crashed while the staff meeting dragged on," Mac asked as Harm turned to face her. "To tell the truth I am just about wasted," Harm said, "but with all of the time zone changes in the last 36 hours my body doesn't have a clue about what to do, and when I tried to drift off a little bit ago I just stared at the overhead so here I am.

                "Mac, about earlier, I…" "No Harm," Mac jumped in, "there's nothing more to add about earlier. We have talked at each other for months…hell years…but not with each other. Who's to blame? Doesn't make any difference. I'm wrong…you're wrong…. no matter. The net effect is…. the net effect is…." Then the tears came. "Damn. I'm not going to stand here in the wardroom and blubber." And with that Mac about faced her way out of the compartment and down the companionway leaving a troubled, confused Harmon Rabb in her wake. 'Shit!'

0715 Local, July 11, At Sea with the 3rd MEU

                Watching the ocean fall away from the bow of a ship underway is an almost magical sight, and Harm stood staring out over the Persian Gulf following a very restless night. His briefings would start at 0815 running through the balance of the day, and he was heading back for the carrier en route to Washington the following morning.

                To this point his trip around the world had been professionally thought provoking and illuminating, but, personally, it was the disaster he feared most. Just as he started to head for the Marine's ops center Mac stepped through a hatch onto the weather deck with something of a bemused smile touching her face. 

                "Penny for your thoughts sailor," she opened spinning Harm around to face her. "How are you feeling this morning?" "All in all, Mac I have had better mornings. I'm still about jet lagged out. I have more facts and figures running through my head that allowed by law. I feel all of my 40 plus years. To top it off… .The hell with it, Mac I surrender. I love you. Period. It's just that simple. Either that's a place to start picking up the pieces or it's not. I can't do any better than that. More than anything else I can think of I want you to be happy. 

                "The 'I'm happy for Mac act' you ripped me about yesterday wasn't an act. It was killing me, but if you were happy with Mic that's what I wanted for you. If hacking into me this fine morning will make you feel better, chop away. You were right and I was wrong about how things have been. I did make a decision about what I thought was best for you and then acted on that decision unilaterally. That was more than wrong. It was stupid. I'm sorry. But, damn it Sarah that's all I can say. I can't change history, no matter how much I would…."

                A soft finger pressed against Harm's lips to quiet him. "Shut up. Now listen to me for a minute…."


	8. Emerging Secrets

0730 Local, July 11, At Sea with the 3rd MEU

                Sarah Mackenzie watched Harmon Rabb's eyes very, very closely once he stopped sputtering around the finger she held tightly to his lips. "Listen extraordinarily carefully for the next couple of minutes, and if you are a good boy I may even let you speak.

                "Harm, I love you too, but that's not going to do either of us any good right now. You're out of here for the bird farm after the briefings and on to Washington. Once you are gone we will continue to get ready for a damn war that's coming as sure as Christmas. You are up to your ass in alligators with this Boone mess, and I'm busting my ass trying to completely unfuck this muddle. 

                "Face it: we have danced around this subject for years. The damn Metropolitan Ballet Company would be worn out from all of the dancing we've done…to get us to this. I love you. You love me. But that's going to have to be put on hold for now. You are going back to Washington to stir up shit as Tom Boone's caddy, and I am going to keep trying to keep my head above water here. 

                "Harm, right now there is no 'us' in any recognizable form. It's not possible. Now, as much as I would like to plant a Richter scale kiss on you right now then drag you off to quarters and start fucking off five years of pent-up sexual tension, we're going to go to work.

                "And, on second thought, I'm not going to let you talk." And with that the Col. Mac persona snapped into place and she stepped through the hatch and headed off to her office leaving Harm standing rooted to the steel deck.

0930 Local, July 11, At sea with the 3rd MEU

                The 3rd MEU's executive officer Col. Bill White wrapped up the first round of briefings as his notebook snapped closed. "Okay, Harm let's take a break. Ops and plans will be up next and we want to share some thoughts with you on handling a direct incursion into some of the terrorist installations that are scattered across our area of operations (AO)."

                'Damn, these guys are thinking,' Harm reflected. 'Then Boone is right about the Marines. They are contemplating dealing with terrorism directly. Everyone else seems to want to try a set piece campaign against these guys, and that didn't work very well in Vietnam did it? If Washington decides to take a run at any of the fundamentalist groups it would be a stone cold bastard. We would have to work on their turf surrounded by at best disinterested, or at worst directly hostile, local populations. We would have to work by long distance with very little real time intelligence. It won't fucking work. What these guys are planning has a chance.

                'What the Marines are talking about, based I am sure on some extensive out of school consultations with the Army special forces people, is essentially a counter guerrilla, almost covert war. Now that would probably work if we were only involved with transnational organizations, but what about the nation/states in the area…Iran, Iraq, Afghanistan? That is a much more conventional scenario, and I wonder if we could manage a combo engagement?' 

                Harm's mind was totally involved in the gymnastics of how to put his random thoughts on paper for Tom Boone. In fact he was so focused on the task that, for the first time in years, he didn't sense his long-time partner standing less than 18" behind him staring intently at the back of his head while he made notes on his Palm.

                "Jesus Harm, you're going to give a girl a complex," Mac breathed into his ear as she approached. "No more than a couple of hours ago I believe I left you with a different thought…now you're worried about something as simple as a war. What's a girl to do if she can't tempt you with her body?" Mac's mouth was now pressed to the back of Harm's right ear and her breasts were pushing against his back. Just for emphasis she slid her right hand into his pants pocket and wiggled her fingers provocatively.

                For New York minute Harm almost turned on Sarah MacKenzie and pinned her against the bulkhead, but at the last millisecond he caught himself turning slowly to face her. "Who are you and what have you done with my partner? You look like her, but you don't sound like her…not that I'm objecting you understand."

                "Funny Flyboy! Real Funny. In the 10 minutes we have before the next round of briefings start we're going to discuss a very fundamental change in the course of the Rabb/MacKenzie soap opera, so listen closely. There will be a quiz later."

                Mac's dark, expressive eyes fixed Harm to the spot where he was standing. "I have had the last sleepless night over 'us' you know. Last night while I was punching out the heavy bag after leaving the wardroom I had a revelation about all of this crap. The short version: Why fight it? The answer: No reason. No goddamn reason at all, so here is where I'm at right now: 1. I love you; 2. I want work on building a future together, and 3. Two is not going to happen in the immediate future…."

                "Mac, wait a minute…," Harm tried to jump in only to have a finger pressed to his lips again. "Harm, for the last fucking time shut up and listen. Our future is the next few hours sitting together in the briefing room then you're gone, and I am still here. So, I decided that all of the posturing, male/female games, and worries about what tomorrow holds are no longer relevant. 

                "Harm, one of the most closely kept secrets in my sea bag is my real personality. For the last 15+ years I've been the LT, Capt. Mac, Maj. Mac or Col. Mac. My persona has been my rank and as much as I love the life…I'm a different person under all of the layers. Over the last few years no one has been closer that you have Harm, but you have only seen little bits of the real Sarah MacKenzie along with the hardcore Marine. She's a little nuts and analytical, she's erotic and passionate, she doesn't care about what other people think, and she's an insecure person who can hide in the bottle or withdraw almost completely from her surroundings.

                "I decided last night that Sarah was going to come out of the closet…at least with the people I know and love. Harm, we can't do anything about 'us' right now. But there is an 'us' if you have the guts to take the good and the bad, because you can't even start to imagine what that may entail. 

                "Here's the last item: I'm going to an intelligence staff conference on Diego Garcia in 10 days. The meeting will probably run four or five days, and you're probably going to be invited. Tom Boone told Gen. Buckner that he can't attend, but that he felt it would be important to have one his senior people attend.

                "If that works out maybe we will be in the same place at the same time…assuming that appeals to you. Okay. I'm done now. You have the floor for the next six minutes and 35 seconds."

                Sarah MacKenzie had left Harm speechless on more than one occasion, so the experience wasn't unique. However, the last two minutes was a breakthrough into all new ground, and Harm was…a little…disconnected. 'I've got to say something. What am I going to say? What am I really thinking…feeling?'

                "Six minutes flat. Harm, we're burning daylight here. You've wanted to talk out of turn all day, now has the cat got your tongue?"

                "Okay. Here goes: 1 - I'm not prepared to believe we can't find 'us' in the middle of all of the stuff, but I'll yield to the overall wisdom of what you are saying; 2 – The old Mac and new Sarah sounds like a split personality gig that will be fun and probably scary to navigate, and 3 – The Rock? Surely there's a better place for a meeting, but you can bet I'll be there if I can. How much time's left?"

                "Good job squid. We've got 4:45 to get back to the conference," and with that Col. Mac was back and she stepped over the knee knocker heading back to the command conference room. Shaking his head Harm followed along thinking, 'She's going to be the death of me some day, but I'm going to enjoy the ride.'

1000 Local, July 11, At Sea with the 3rd MEU

                Briefings that deal with means and methods of conflict virtually always have some kind of security classification, and the _pro forma _opening reminds the participants that material covered and all associated documents are classified. Blackwater Buckner's opening for Harm's final session with the Marines was a little more attention getting.

                "Okay everybody. The materials we are now moving to are classified Top Secret/Cranberry Cove. Anyone who is even thinking about discussing this meeting 'out of school' will be disemboweled with a dull butter knife and then really punished. Is everyone clear?"

                Obviously no answer was expected from this group.

                "People, a lot of thought has gone into what would be required if the NCA (National Command Authority) were to decide that some, or all, of the gaggle of terrorist groups and outlaw states in our AO were to be neutralized. Before coming to the 3rd MEU I was Chief of Staff for the Combined Special Warfare Working Group at the JFK Special Warfare Center. Over the 24 months I was at CSW2G a number of highly specialized scenarios were developed to respond to nation-sponsored terrorist and transnational terrorist groups that operate with impunity in many areas.

                "These scenarios are being reduced to operational plans and will be in the hands of the operators by 1 August for a final review and in theater coordination. Bill, you and Mac will be responsible for getting the 3rd ready to respond to the listed options…we will also need to be prepared for a flexible response if the something unforeseen hits us. A final point: Weapons of mass destruction may be found and potentially used in theater against us or other parties.

                "Harm, you will be briefed completely in on the Cranberry Cove options when you return to Washington, and I expect to see you back in the Indian Ocean for the intelligence staff conference on The Rock in a couple of weeks. I anticipate that you will have some substantial input for we working stiffs then.

                "Bill, I'm going to toss the briefing back into you hands. Harm, I don't think I will have a chance to see you again before you head out, so 'good luck' and go safely. Give Tom Boone my best." With that Blackwater Buckner headed out the door.

                Cranberry Cove had been alluded to in several conversations over the last few weeks, Harm reflected, but without any substantive detail. 'Jesus. Someone is really thinking about a preemptive strike or, at a minimum, a substantive heavy response to another attack on American interests. No wonder the SecDef has been all over Chegwidden and Boone about refining the near term and longer term requirements.'

                The balance of the meeting went into the books in routine fashion, and Bill White was left to add the finishing touches. "Harm, I am not sure we've done much more technically than show that the 3rd MEU is capable of any mission we are presented with, but my primary hope it that you will carry the idea back to your program that the forces currently in our AO are also in need of better guidance, more firepower, and improved in-theater communications gear. If we are going to be able to move in force in the theater we also really need better real-time intelligence gathering capabilities chopped to our command.

                "Finally, if Central Command is going to retain responsibility for the area, frankly, we need a larger CENTCOM presence in the field. It's a long goddamn way to MacDill and the huge time difference presents some real problems with quick reaction should it be required. I'm not going to be so bold as to suggest that we be cut loose from CENTCOM for operational purposes, but if something happens that puts us into the line of fire we really are going to need substantial latitude in our rules of engagement (ROE)."

                Harm looked over the assembled group. Most were wearing Marine camo, but a number of staff folks from the 3rd Airwing, including Dead Eye Smith, were also present. "Col. White, ladies and gentlemen, thank you for the time you spent and the depth of thought that has gone into preparations to this point. I will carry your comments, thoughts, and needs back with me. But the primary thing that will head back to Sodom on the Potomac will be the clear picture of your level of preparation and professionalism.

                "Folks if push comes to shove we will all be tested and our level of professionalism and dedication to the art and science of arms will be challenged. Thank you again for the hospitality. I am sure I will see a few familiar faces in a couple of weeks." The meeting broke up with everyone heading back to his or her respective duties. Harm looked around for Mac, but got only a brief peek as she headed back to the intelligence section. 

                The delegation from the bird farm was scheduled to head back to the Stennis in 15 minutes, but there wasn't enough room for Harm. He was scheduled to depart on the regular 1745 mail and milk run, and be on the early morning COD to start his long ride back to Washington. He planned to make use of the 45 minutes remaining before his departure.

                After gathering his gear Harm turned to his escort and asked, "Lieutenant, can you track Col. MacKenzie down for me please? I would like a few minutes of her time if possible before the shuttle leaves." "Certainly Sir. Excuse me," and the lieutenant was gone.

                Harm watched the gentle rise and fall of the Persian Gulf for while waiting and thinking. 'Okay, we are in all new territory here.

                "Sir, Col. MacKenzie's compliments. She asked me to tell you that she was 'up to her ass in alligators' and 'travel safely.' That was about all I was able to get out of her before the general and Col. White closed the conference room hatch." Disappointment ran through Harm, but he was already looking forward to a second trip into the Indian Ocean in a few days.

TBC?


	9. Moving Closer?

0730 Local, July 15, The Pentagon, Washington, DC  
  
"Good morning. Capt. Rabb's office. Petty Officer Coates speaking. This line is not secure. How may I help you sir?"  
  
"Morning Coates," Tom Boone's voice boomed over the phone. "Where's the captain? I thought he was back today."  
  
"Sir, I just spoke with him on the cell phone, and he's about 10 minutes out. Can I pass a message along for you?"  
  
"When he comes in tell him he's needed in the vault ASAP," and with that the volatile admiral was gone.  
  
0900 Local, July 15, The Pentagon, Washington, DC  
  
Walking out of one of the Pentagon's extremely secure conference rooms Harm had a wicked headache. Rather than working through some of the thornier elements of the Navy's portion of the Department of Defense reorganization plan, the conference had degenerated into a turf battle between the various elements in attendance, and Tom Boone was hot under the collar.  
  
"The son of a bitches just don't get it," he ranted to his harried deputy as the elevator door closed. "I just can't believe our own guys . the aviators . can't figure out that we've got to get more involved with the spec-ops people, the Marines, and the Army. The ignorant bastards are convinced the entire goddamn military universe revolves around them. Bullshit!"  
  
By the time the two officers walked into the admiral's office some of the steam had gone out of the conversation, but Clayton Webb's presence tossed a few more logs onto the fire.  
  
"Admiral . Rabb . I see you had a productive meeting with the Navy's thought leaders," Webb opened.  
  
"Dammit, Clay this isn't the time," Harm jumped in to close off that line of conversation before the admiral's blood pressure boldly went where no blood pressure had gone before. "Are you here for a reason, or did you just drop by to see if we survived the ambush Adm. Harrell tried to set?"  
  
"I really have a valid reason to be here, and I am glad that I have a chance to talk to both of you at once. I was afraid you were not back from the Gulf yet.  
  
"Strictly out of school, the pace of things is picking up with our militant friends in Afghanistan, and there are indications that some big operation is cooking. Before you ask, no one has any idea what's in the wind, but there are a lot of signs that Big O's boys are on the move. The Brits are also picking up more solid indications that the Nut of Baghdad is nosing around with some of his European friends looking for more exotic nuclear hardware. All in all I've got to tell you that I'm getting worried, but our crack office bound analysts have concluded that we don't have anything 'to be concerned about.'  
  
"To cut a long story short, we've got plenty to be worried about, and I don't have a clue about where the time line is.  
  
"I saw Chegwidden early this morning, and he told me that he's looking for a work document from the Marines and the Army this week. The Air Force paperwork is apparently already on his desk. Now, I would guess he's going to be all over you two about Navy progress, and I really don't think you want the Secretary, the CNO (Chief of Naval Operations), and an unhappy former Seal all on your ass.  
  
"On that happy note I will take my leave," and with that Webb slithered out the door closing it behind him.  
  
"Shit!"  
  
"I'll second that!  
  
1015 Local, July 15, The Pentagon, Washington, DC  
  
As soon as the staff was assembled Adm. Boone called the meeting to order.  
  
"Alright people, here's where we are going from here: A glass of cold water and an original idea would kill most of the Navy's plans and doctrine troops apparently, so we're going to make it easy for them. We're going to draft a new Navy position and I'll take the damn thing to the Chief myself. If we keep waiting for the surface warfare people, the aviators, the bubble heads, and the rest to decide we are all on the same team we'll be sitting in the basement of a burned out Pentagon waiting for them to decide we have a problem.  
  
"Harm: Pull a couple of whiz kids out of the think tank; set them on the right course with the unconventional warfare issues, and integrate the war fighters needs into an overall plan that will mesh with what the Jarheads and the Snake Eaters are planning. If you need to get back with the 3rd or any of the other Marine Expeditionary Force (MEF) planners do so quickly and get this finished.  
  
"You will also need to get with someone from JAG to clear up how we will proceed with rules of engagement (ROE) drafting unless you want to wind up with the lawyers running the show later . no offense intended of course."  
  
1030 Local, July 16, Falls Church, VA  
  
Vice Admiral A. J. Chegwidden unconsciously straightened his uniform as he walked through the doors and into JAG Operations for the last time as The JAG. Gunnery Sergeant Mike Mullins had been watching for his boss to hit the door.  
  
"Attention! Admiral on deck."  
  
As the room came to attention there was a long pause. "At ease," the Navy's newest three-star opened. "Since this is my last day here there are a couple of details I want to cover with everyone. First, there will be a general amnesty on leftover reports and general paperwork. It will not last past Friday close of business, but I want to be able to leave my replacement with a clean slate.  
  
"Secondly, there is news on who will move in the 'big chair' as well as some other information to be passed along.  
  
"First, Adm. Morris has been nominated to the Military Court of Appeals and he will be leaving for his new job across The River in a couple of weeks when his pending docket is cleared.  
  
"Second, Commander Roberts, you are being shipped over to Adm. Boone's operation for a few days TAD. Capt. Rabb asked for a JAG consult and ROE review on one of their projects, and you have been requested. Clean things up around here and get with the Admiral's executive assistant (EA) to arrange the move. Also, I doubt you will be coming back here before leaving for Pearl Harbor, so start getting the loose ends tied up.  
  
"Third, Sturgis your promotion to Captain is in the mill, and you will be moving up to acting JAG for the immediate future. My replacement will be announced before the end of the month. That is all for now. Back to work!"  
  
1700 Local, July 16, At sea with the 3rd MEU  
  
"Mac," Blackwater Buckner opened, "have things smoothed out with the Central Command (CENTCOM) intel group and the Fifth Fleet and NAVCENT (Naval Forces Central Command) staff in Bahrain?"  
  
"Yes sir. I think we've finally all gotten on the same page, and we're seeing a lot more of the raw take as well as the assessment data from all concerned. But I'm still not comfortable that we're ready to start much in the way of in-house analysis," she concluded.  
  
"Okay. We'll score that one as partial good news, but we've got to get our shit together here before we can start to move the Cranberry Cove details out of my safe and along to the orders group. Stay after it. Dismissed.  
  
"Oh, Mac, before you go: You are still heading for The Rock to the command staff intelligence conference next week aren't you? When you see Capt. Rabb try to remember to give him my regards. "  
  
She managed to get over the knee knocker and out into the companionway before the blush rose above the collar of her BDUs, but it was close.  
  
2200 Local, July 17, The Pentagon, Washington, DC  
  
Ties had been sacrificed hours ago, and a great many other fine protocol points had been trampled during the day. Heated conversation that had echoed around the dungeon died away finally, and the sigh that escaped Harm's lips when he pushed his chair away from the table was heart felt. "Bud, how long have we been at this? It seems like we've been debating some of this shit for weeks!"  
  
"Sir, I all I know is that we got started about 0715, and I don't think we've been out of here for more than a few minutes since then. On top of that, how many 'clarification' meetings have we had today? I lost count after the fast three rounds you went with Gen. Lindsay about the Marines potential role in Cranberry Cove option six . or was it five?"  
  
As Harm and Bud gathered up the mounds of documents and called for a classified document control officer to cart them off the older man appraised his younger associate. 'God, he's come a long way over the last few years. The old, affable PAO from the Seahawk has turned into one hell of a lawyer. Now he's reinventing himself again with a rapidly expanding view of the Navy's emerging role.  
  
"Bud, you need to be very careful with what you say for the next few days while this project works out. If you keep acting like (a) you know what you are doing, and (b) continue to show that you understand how we are planning to execute some of these options you aren't going to get to Hawaii and out of the line of fire.  
  
"Adm. Boone likes your analysis, and he's really behind anyone who can reduce some of the abstract concepts buried in policy and turn them into real, workable ROE. That's a dangerous trait. It will bounce you out into the field as a wartime fleet JAG if things get hot."  
  
0715 Local, July 23, The Pentagon, Washington, DC  
  
Harm took a last look at the e-mail message he just finished.  
  
'Mac: 'At this point it looks like I will blast off from here Thursday night on the Milk Run for NAVCENT and on to The Rock probably arriving late afternoon on Friday the 27th. That will give me a chance to get a little sleep in a real rack before the meeting starts on Monday. 'I'm really looking forward to seeing you. It's been crazy here, and I've really missed you. 'I have to run now. Adm. Boone just called, and he's about five minutes out. 'Luv, 'Harm'  
  
He hit the encrypt/send key just as Hurricane Tom blew into his office.  
  
1600 Local, July 23, At Sea with the 3rd MEU  
  
The encrypted e-mail arriving tone from the computer on her desk intruded on Mac's concentration, and with poorly concealed irritation she snapped through the necessary commands to retrieve the message frankly expecting one more bureaucratic bullshit from NAVCENT or CENTCOM intelligence.  
  
After reading the FROM line a high voltage smile lit up her entire end of the compartment. 


	10. Meeting, Briefings and Surprises

1655 Hrs Local, July 26, Departure Terminal, Andrews Air Force Base, Washington, DC  
  
The bleating cell phone finally interrupted Harm's daydreaming.  
  
"Rabb," he opened, "this line is encrypted."  
  
"Damn Harm, 'bout time you answered the phone." Adm. Boone's voice boomed over the phone when it was flipped open. "I was starting to wonder if I'd missed you. Are you still at Andrews?"  
  
Before an answer could be formulated then delivered the volatile Admiral charged ahead. "There's a change of plans from this end. We've got a command performance with Chegwidden tomorrow at 0745 and your presence is required.  
  
"I know you've been planning the Indian Ocean trip, and we need to have someone down there for the conference. But you're not the guy on this trip. I caught Bud on his way back to Falls Church, and he's headed for Andrews right now. The fucking Air Force has been ordered to wait for him. You need to get your gear back from the loadmaster and go to the operations office and check in. As soon as you are cleared off the flight head back over here." With that the phone went dead.  
  
While an unhappy operations clerk cleared Harm's paperwork with an equally irritated Air Force colonel leaning over his shoulder, Bud rushed in the door. "Sir, I got here as quickly as I could, but traffic on the bridge was a bitch. While Adm. Boone was yelling at me to 'get my ass to Andrews and get you off the Gulf milk run' he said you had a package for NAVCENT?"  
  
Popping his briefcase open Harm pulled a sealed envelope out and sat it on the operations counter. "Bud, this needs to be handed to the CDO (classified documents officer) on Diego Garcia. As soon as he's signed for the package call our office and tell the duty officer 'mission accomplished' and FAX a copy of the hand receipt."  
  
Harm and Bud completed the handoff paperwork; the operations clerk countersigned the documents, and Bud headed for the C-17 prodded along by the loadmaster. Before Harm had pulled out of the base long-term parking area the Globemaster II was making a climbing turn to the northeast heading for the Gulf, and by the time he pulled into the Pentagon's parking area Bud's flight was level at FL410 cruising easily at just under .78 mach.  
  
2025 Hrs Local, July 26, The Pentagon  
  
"Okay, I think that's it for the night," Adm. Boone concluded. "We're just pushing the same things around the table. We'll run this past Adm. Chegwidden in the morning, and, if we're close to the mark he will set a briefing for the CNO and the SECNAV.  
  
"Harm, I want you to handle the briefing tomorrow, but if things get rough around the edges I'll step in to take any heat from your old boss. We're going to have to be sure we are all on the same page once we've got his briefing out of the way, because the little chat with the CNO and SECNAV will be entertaining I am sure."  
  
Once the last of the paperwork was secure and Harm was headed home he thought 'I need to shoot Mac a message about the change of plans,' but the idea was submerged under his fatigue and very much lost at sea be the time he made it home and crashed fully clothed on the bed.  
  
1030 Hrs Local, July 27, The Pentagon  
  
"Gentlemen, well done," Adm. Chegwidden concluded the briefing. "The Chief and the Secretary are both convinced you are disloyal bastards and have thrown your cards in with the enemy. That's a good thing. The SECDEF is looking for a 'new eyes' program, and of all of the services you have done the best job of trying to mold the existing infrastructure into a new force.  
  
"Tom, the way you handled moving special operations into a more cohesive operation working under one of the unified commands is the right way to go, although the Chief will be mightily pissed for weeks with the loss of operational control of any deployed SEAL teams."  
  
"A. J.," Adm. Boone interjected, "I am glad to hear a former SEAL take that position. It's been Harm's contention from the jump that if we're going to do more, more quickly, with less mass we're moving to a spec ops world."  
  
Final notes and revisions were examined one more time before the tall three-star dismissed Boone's team to head back into the dungeon to make FINAL alterations before briefing the Secretary of Defense.  
  
'Damn,' Harm thought on the elevator ride back to the basement. 'The CAG should not have sent Bud to the fucking Gulf. We're going to get run through the wringer on some of these points, and he's the ranking JAG officer assigned to this project. Shit! I really don't want to sign off on the ROE review, because there are all kinds of potential conflicts of interest.'  
  
Reading his deputy like an open book, Adm. Boone interrupted Harm's musings. "Don't worry about the ROE and policy review. All of Chegwidden's changes are in presentation. We can retain the ROE provisions, since all we are really worried about will be Cranberry Cove. With any luck the SECDEF won't want to get into the nuts and bolts."  
  
The pair breezed into the office and past Jennifer Coates like a cold wind, but the admiral's voice echoed out of his office, "Coates! In here on the double." She had barely come to attention before a sharp "at ease, take a seat" signaled the start another hyperactive meeting.  
  
1645 Hrs Local, July 28, Diego Garcia, Indian Ocean  
  
Mac watched the C-17 make the long term to final approach from the transient aircraft-parking ramp near the Navy's Patrol Squadron 4 (VP4) operations area. As the big transport made the lengthy taxi from runway to ramp she was awash with conflicting thoughts and emotions. 'If someone slips behind me and says BOO I'll fucking well jump over the plane,' Mac mused. 'I can't remember being wrapped this tight waiting for the shooting to start, much less waiting for a freaking airplane to get to the ramp. God, I hope I don't make a fool or myself right here, right now.'  
  
Once the cargo ramp was lowered and the forward door was opened the few passengers started filing off while the cargo handlers moved their equipment in position to hump the pallets off the bird. Since there were only 12 authorized passengers on the flight Mac started hiking across the ramp as soon as the first stiff, sleepy, sore serviceman made it down the ramp.  
  
Heat and the bright sun assaulted Bud's senses when he walked down the ramp lugging his briefcase and travel bag, and he made a turn to the right to head follow his fellow passengers to the operations office so he could report in and look for a field grade classified document control officer.  
  
Mac's focus on looking for Harm among the passengers caused her to almost bump into the back of a medium height Naval officer who was walking toward the building. The next scene looked and sounded a little like a bad Candid Camera bit.  
  
Startled, Mac quickly spoke to the unidentified officer she collided with. "Oops. I am so sorry. Are you okay?"  
  
The jostled officer quickly caught his balance and made a quick turn toward the familiar voice.  
  
"Colonel? Mac? Are you okay?"  
  
Stupefied Mac just gaped at Bud. "You're not Harm. He's supposed to be in this flight. Where is he?"  
  
"He didn't make the flight. Adm. Boone headed him off at Andrews for some briefing or something. We met at Andrews and he gave me a bunch of stuff to bring along to the conference. Then he blasted off for the Pentagon like his tail was on fire."  
  
"He's not coming?"  
  
From time to time Bud had flashes of insight into the complex relationship between his mentor and his long-time friend, and this was one of those occasions. "All he had time to say after he passed the document package was, 'Tell Mac I was kidnapped by the Admiral and I'll call her as soon as I can.' "  
  
That spur-of-the-moment truth adjustment was probably all that stood between Bud and a homicidal Marine officer. "Kidnapped? Fucking kidnapped! How did that happen?" Before Bud had an opportunity to say or do anything she made a grab for her composure and was successful.  
  
"Bud, I'm so sorry you got trapped into this scenic excursion. Are you going to take Harm's place at the conference?"  
  
0715 Hrs Local, July 30, The Pentagon, Washington, DC  
  
Anyone who believes senior officers can't look a little spooked has never sat waiting for the start of a briefing of the current Secretary of Defense. The dignified older gentleman in the subtle pin stripe suit at the head of the table paused for a moment to clean his glasses before nodding his head toward Adm. Boone.  
  
"Tom, it's good to see you again. I'm glad you were able to tear yourself away from the Trout stream to get back in harness for this little project." Working his way around the table he nodded toward Adm. Chegwidden.  
  
"A. J. are you okay with what these guys have come up with?" The SECDEF speared the three-star flag officer with a laser stare. "You know the Vice President has got to be on board with what we come up with."  
  
A former SEAL who had stared death in the face on more than one occasion over the years had to work very hard not to squirm under the stare. "Absolutely Mr. Secretary. Absolutely."  
  
Finally the SECDEF turned his attention to his briefer. "Capt. Rabb, you may proceed when ready." Harm licked his lips once the jumped in with booth feet.  
  
"Mr. Secretary, if we are to accomplish the Navy's traditional missions in the coming years we are going to have to turn the 'old' navy on its head." The Secretary nodded agreement and the dog and pony show was on.  
  
1145 Hrs Local, July 30, The Pentagon, Washington, DC  
  
After more than four intense hours of briefings; pointed questions; even more pointed follow up questions, and more than one or two sharp exchanges the SECDEF closed his notepad. Pushed back from the table and stood ending the meeting.  
  
"Good job gentlemen. Admirals, I suppose I should expect a parade from the establishment explaining in great detail about how your program has run off the rails, because you have certainly marked a course that's unusual and innovative. I'll discuss things with the Vice President, and I am sure he'll want to hear it from you."  
  
With that he was gone. 


	11. Moving in Different Circles

1345 Hrs Local, July 30, The Officers Club, Washington Navy Yard, Washington, DC  
  
As the steward cleared away the last remnants of lunch Adm. Chegwidden surveyed his dining partners with a satisfied smile. "You did 'good' gentlemen. I haven't seen the SECDEF offer much more than a perfunctory 'thanks' to any other briefer that has stood in that room in the last couple of weeks. But you've got to remember that you are only half way to the house on this one. If I were a betting man I would put the farm on the line that we, I'm sorry, you will see a very detailed review of this morning's meeting in your e-mail no later than 0700 tomorrow from either the Secretary himself or his Chief of Staff.  
  
"Once that is incorporated into the program, I would guess that you will get to brief the Secretary one more time with the changes. He will play 20 questions with you then head across the river to brief the VP. I wouldn't expect much feedback from that session unless he gets his head handed to him, and I would anticipate that we would have to start reducing the approved concept into operational guidance via the orders group by 15 August.  
  
"On that note, it's time to head back to the Puzzle Palace for more joy and laughter. Tom, Harm, that was 4.0 work."  
  
1415 Hrs Local, July 30, The Pentagon, Washington, DC  
  
Harm's phone was ringing when he walked into the office, and Bud was at the other end of the connection.  
  
"Bud, how are you? It's good to see that the long ride didn't kill you."  
  
"It was a near thing Sir, but the most hazardous part of the trip was the walk from the bird to the operations shack at DG. I ran into LTC MacKenzie on the ramp, or rather she ran into me while looking for you. Ray Charles could have seen how hot she was that you weren't on the flight. I told her that Adm. Boone had kidnapped you, and that seemed to take some of the fire out of the moment.  
  
"We had dinner, and I came to the VOQ to crash and call you with a SITREP (situation report) before you stepped into the line of fire somewhere."  
  
"Thanks, Bud. I will track Mac down. Is there anything I need to pass along to Harriett?"  
  
"No sir, I just sent her an e-mail message, and I am sure I will hear back from her by morning. Good night sir."  
  
"Night Bud, keep your head down at the conference. Don't be a 'friendly fire' victim."  
  
As the computer booted Harm considered what to say to Mac, and by the time it was up and running he was ready to write.  
  
'Mac:  
  
'I am sorry that Bud wound up being the bearer of the news that I had been trapped by the CAG for a briefing, but that's just the way the deal went down. He grabbed me almost literally off the flight, and its been just crazy here since then.  
  
'We cleared a huge hurdle today, and I think it will get a little easier at this end, at least for a few days. If things will settle down a bit here I'm expected at Aviano Air Base for a meeting in a couple of weeks. Maybe you can wrangle leave for a couple of days and we can meet in Naples or somewhere. Otherwise I'm not sure what will be happening here after early September.  
  
'As easy as it would be to agree with you that there's no 'us' right now, I don't want to do that. Maybe I'm just to hard headed.  
  
'Mac, I've got to run. The CAG is on the phone. Keep safe!  
  
'Luv,  
  
'Harm'  
  
He hit the send key as he picked up the phone.  
  
0630 Local, July 31, Diego Garcia, Indian Ocean  
  
When Mac logged onto the network to check her mail she was immediately rewarded with 15 new messages including an update from Gen. Buckner concerning the position he wanted the 3rd MEU to take on several issues on the conference agenda. Harm's message was next to last, so she saved it until she was through with all of the Corps housekeeping issues.  
  
After reading the message a second time she felt a little misty, but tramped the feeling down as quickly as it came. 'There isn't an 'us' right now. Harm's going to have to get over it for the next few months until I either get transferred out of here or he gets away from Tom Boone's little project.' With a final exhortation to 'focus' she shut her laptop down, secured her room, and headed off to the opening session.  
  
1305 Hrs Local, July 31, The Pentagon, Washington, DC  
  
'I don't know why Adm. Boone bothers with the phone,' PO2 Coates thought to herself. 'The way he yells into the speaker phone I can hear him without picking up.' "Yes, Sir. The captain is down in the dungeon with someone from sea systems.  
  
"Yes sir, I'll go down there and, if necessary, drag him to the phone since he won't answer the phone down there."  
  
A pair of short walks, a quiet elevator ride, and a brief conversation, with a heavily armed Marine got Jennifer into the dungeon where she interrupted her boss. "Sir, Adm. Boone wants you to call him ASAP.  
  
"Okay Jen, we will be done here in a couple of minutes and I will call him."  
  
"Sir, that won't cut it. The CAG said 'right now,' and I am sure that means 'right now.' I'll get him on the line for you."  
  
When she pointed to the phone on the table from the other instrument Harm picked up the line to get an earful of admiral. "Harm, Adm. Chegwidden wants you and I in his office immediately. Tell the guy from NAVSEA you will have to get back with him then get the hell over to the admiral's office. I will see you there."  
  
1320 Hrs Local, July 31, The Pentagon, Washington, DC  
  
Before the two visitors could go through the formalities of reporting to the senior officer they were told to "grab a chair."  
  
Meeting with Adm. Chegwidden generally didn't involve a lot of small talk, particularly since he made the move to the SECDEF's office, and this time he went directly to the point. "The Secretary called on his way to lunch across the river at The House. The Vice President had high praise for the work you have done, and he wants to see you at the office in the OEOB (Old Executive Office Building) at 1445 today. Don't worry about your briefing materials. The Secretary said it was informal, but be on your toes.  
  
"Remember: You have two Secretaries of Defense in the same room, and they both lean toward tough questions and won't tolerate anything short of concise answers. There is a car waiting for you at the South Entrance, so you better get moving."  
  
As the two officers started out the door there was an insincere note in the voice from behind the desk, "Have a nice day guys."  
  
1500 Hrs Local, July 31, Crossing the 14th Street Bridge, Washington, DC  
  
"CAG, that was a helluva meeting. I really thought we looked at all of the potential scenarios we might see in the (Persian) Gulf and the entire southeast Asia area, but it looks like we may have missed a few. I can't remember walking out of a conference feeling this drained since my first year at the academy."  
  
Tom Boone regarded his battered deputy for a moment before responding. "Harm, you did good in there and don't forget it. The VP and the SECDEF have been briefed out the ass by state, NSA (National Security Agency), CIA, and who knows whom else. They should have been ready, and they certainly were.  
  
"The key is that we have enough flexibility in where we are trying to go with the reorganization that there was support available from the Navy at every turn. I'm guessing that hasn't been the case with some of the other briefings. I would love to be a fly on the wall at CENTCOM when they are hit with the kind of tasking they are likely to get."  
  
"Don't be to big with the wishful thinking boss," Harm offered. "We will probably be served up whole at CENTCOM before this gets too much further."  
  
1520 Hrs Local, July 31, The Pentagon, Washington, DC  
  
Harm returned Adm. Chegwidden's telephone call as soon as he walked into his office, and was amazed at what his old boss wanted to discuss.  
  
"Harm, The Secretary's office just called, and you are invited to join he and his wife and a few 'friends' at 1845 for drinks tonight at a reception before The National Symphony performance at The Kennedy Center. There will be a small dinner afterward at Blair House. The dress is black tie, and the boss really doesn't want to see anyone show in dress whites, so wear a tux. You do have a tux don't you? Renting one at this hour will be a bitch if you don't. Anyway, some flunky from his office is heading for your office with the details. Have a nice evening."  
  
The phone was banged onto the hook and Harm charged out of the office past his yeoman's empty desk. As he walked quickly out of the section he only paused long enough to tell the chief of the watch that he would be available by cell phone the balance of the day.  
  
1835 Hrs Local, The Kennedy Center Grand Foyer, Washington, DC  
  
Capt. Harmon Rabb looked a little like a cover photo from Gentleman's Quarterly as he walked into the Kennedy Center. The tuxedo he wore, purchased under great duress from a former girl friend, was immaculate.  
  
A quick word with a uniformed Secret Service guard directed provided directions to the small room where the SECDEF's party was gathered. Once he showed his ID card and invitation to the agent at the door he was admitted into an entirely different world. 


	12. Turns in the Road

1130 Hours Local, August 1, Royal Navy Conference Center, Diego Garcia, Indian Ocean  
  
Walking out of the intelligence conference opening session with LTC Roberts Mac couldn't help herself. 'Lieutenant Commander Roberts? Wow! It's hard to believe how far he's come since our first meeting.'  
  
"Colonel? Ma'am are you okay?"  
  
Mac snapped out of her daydream. "I'm fine. I was just working to get a grip on the vision of you with the extra half stripe. By the way, that was good work this morning with the briefing, and the rough handling during the Q&A."  
  
"I've spent the last few days trapped between Adm. Boone and Commander Rabb, excuse me, Captain, on this material. I'll promise you that this morning's round of 20 questions was a walk through The Rose Garden compared with some of those sessions.  
  
"I can't start to tell you how tense some of those meetings were, but it was a great study in command presence. The CAG and Harm, at times, would be screaming at each other over some point or another, but when that issue was settled it was over. A lot of the stuff was extremely sensitive, and the direction the new program is heading will be a very hard sell when it's presented to the SECDEF. Even Adm. Chegwidden is a little tense about how this will all work out."  
  
"Well, Bud, the only thing I can tell you for sure is 'all of that is thousands of miles away now.'"  
  
0005 Hrs Local, August 1, Blair House, Washington, DC  
  
It had been one of those Alice in Wonderland days, starting with a command performance with the SECDEF that turned into a briefing of the Vice President and the Secretary at the VP's office in the Old Executive Office Building. The day's second command performance was an appearance at a reception and later a dinner at the Vice President's residence.  
  
Walking into the reception at The Kennedy Center much earlier in the evening Harm entered the most elevated political and social circles in Washington. As one of the secretary's aides handled the introductions Harm was surprised at the breadth of political thought present. The Georgian who was the former speaker of the United States House of Representatives anchored one end of the political spectrum. The other extreme was ably handled by a Congresswoman from California more known for her opposition of anything Republican.  
  
Moving from person to person the SECDEF had a positive word, a joke, or a compliment for everyone in the room. When he approached Harm it was with a warm smile. "Welcome captain. I am pleased you were able to join us. It's going to be a little hectic here, but after the concert and dinner please plan to stay around for a bit. Some people would like to meet you." With that he moved on.  
  
The National Symphony's performance had been spectacular and dinner was a warm, intimate affair among friends. Once after dinner drinks were served the evening's political work started. A plainclothes agent escorted Harm to the small study off the main foyer at the residence, and when he entered the Vice President and the Secretary both stood.  
  
"Captain, welcome to Blair House, and thank you for remaining as the evening has wound down. I am sure it's been a long day for you, but I would like to have a few more minutes of your time," the vice president opened. "The work that you and Tom Boone have turned out is excellent, but I am sure you have managed to infuriate most of the establishment with the conclusions offered.  
  
"Son, there's no doubt in my mind that we're going to have to face up to some enormous political, economic, and military challenges in the months ahead, and the boss doesn't want to be caught on the blind side. That's why the DOD has been tasked with self-generating a new mission and why it is critical that all of the services start looking at the whole 'big picture' rather than watching their respective backsides.  
  
"The Navy, at least at this point, seems to have managed to put more of its parochial interests in the bottle and start moving toward the future. I'm frankly amazed, but I guess Don was on the right track when he slotted Chegwidden into his office and in turn pulled Tom Boone back into harness.  
  
"Here is where we are right now: Things are going to change because the boss wants more bang for the taxpayer buck, and he wants more flexibility in how we respond to events in the world. Captain, the President wants to be able to swing a big bat if he needs one, and our responsibility is to give him one.  
  
"Thank you again for coming this evening. I suspicion we will be seeing more of you in the months ahead." With that the Vice President shook hands and walked away, and when Harm walked out of the study the party had broken up. With a nod from the ever-present Secret Service team he retrieved his car and pulled out of the residence into the light late night traffic.  
  
0045 Hrs Local, August 1, Pennsylvania Ave., S.E., Washington DC  
  
Still keyed up from the day's events Harm realized he would not be able to sleep, so he parked along The Avenue and walked into one of the little bars that lined the street, and a trio was finishing up a jazz set as he made his way to the bar to find a seat and a beer.  
  
The Sam Adams was just starting to cut through the tension that always built up between his shoulders when he was under pressure as a firm hand clamped down on his right shoulder. Harm glanced up to the back bar mirror and saw Tom Boone at his side.  
  
"Good job today counselor. How were things in Fantasyland?"  
  
"CAG, I'm not sure. The SECDEF and the VP both had good things to say about our little project, but I can't help but think that we've just scratched the surface of what they want. The Vice President was pretty pointed in talking about the 'parochial interests' of the various branches as opposed to a focus on the 'big picture.' I get the impression that we're in for a rough ride."  
  
"Son, you are probably right," the older man nodded, "but none of that makes any difference right now. You have done remarkably well in a nasty job that's probably not going to get any more enjoyable. So, have another beer or three; take three or four days off, and I will not expect to see you for a few days.  
  
"By the way, you are expected at Pax River Monday morning early for a Super Hornet transition course that should keep you out of trouble most of the week. Don't put the bird in the mud and report back in the following Monday.  
  
"Also, to be safe, keep Coates posted with a phone number and location and don't forget your cell phone. It's hard to predict when the Navy's brain trust may want something else." Adm. Boone paid the tab and faded into the crowd leaving Harm at his post at the bar.  
  
0715 Local, August 6, NAS Patuxent River, MD  
  
Harm had spent most of the weekend with the new Super Hornet flight manual getting ready for his transition training, and while he was impressed with the performance numbers the Plastic Bug's systems had his mind reeling. His ground and systems training instructor hadn't helped his state of mind much either with his opening remarks.  
  
"Captain, after looking at your records there's no doubt in my mind that you can probably fly the bird, maybe better than most. But, jumping from the current F-14 to the F/A-18 your big challenge will be getting up to speed on the systems. Your airmanship is outstanding, but if you don't master the 'switchology' you will never master the jet. And if you don't master the bird it will kill you or worse it will embarrass you and leave your ass hanging out in the wind."  
  
With those warm, encouraging words still ringing in his ears Harm was shoved into the hard work of learning a whole new means of managing a new, better, and more lethal bird of prey. It was a bitch.  
  
After struggling with the ground procedures trainer and computer based learning systems for most of the day the setup of the Hornet's systems, avionics and weapons systems finally started to make sense, and by the time his brain overloaded and went into the involuntary shut down mode at 1600 Harm had started to have a little hope.  
  
1645 Local, Officers Club, NAS Patuxent River, MD  
  
A toddy or two and dinner looked really good to Harm as he strolled into the club. Making his way to the bar he recognized a few faces and handled the greetings before making his way to a stool at the end of the long bar. As he sipped the Crown Royal Harm could feel some of the tension starting to slip away and be replaced with confidence that he could FLY THE GODDAMN JET.  
  
By the time a second Crown was on the bar he was eager to get out of the classroom and into the airplane.  
  
An obviously female voice with a faint New York accent interrupted his mental pep talk. "Hammer? Jesus, it is you. How the heck are you and why are you here without some advance notice? I thought you knew better."  
  
'Skates! How are you and what the heck are you doing here? I thought you were deployed.'  
  
Elizabeth Hawkes was closer to Harm than almost anyone in naval aviation, and she shamelessly took advantage of that relationship most of the time. "I'm stuck for the moment. My nose gunner and I are TAD (temporary duty) here to complete a test program then ferry a replacement '14D back to the fleet. Maintenance has its head up its ass, as usual, and they can't cut the bird loose until sometime Wednesday.  
  
"Now, back to the original question: What's up with you down here with the flying troops rather than keeping your chair warm in the CAG's office at the puzzle palace?"  
  
'Skates, that's Captain Chairwarmer, so show a little more respect.' As she rolled her eyes back, Harm pressed on. 'Apparently there's a shortage of highly qualified four stripe Hornet drivers so I've been selected to represent the old and retreaded in a new program designed to makes us crazy.'  
  
"Hammer, you will love the Bug once you figure out what all of the switches do. Trust me here. Now that it has enough fuel to haul a little ordinance out of sight of the ship without a couple of stops for gas you'll love it.  
  
"The glazed eyes would also seem to indicate that you are deeply involved in the 'this switch does that, but doesn't do something else you thought it should' phase of the program. Hang in there and it will all snap into place along the line.  
  
"I hate to harass and run, but I've got to find Stargazer before he gets lost. I'll see you around the campus before we get away."  
  
2015 Local, Officers Club, NAS Patuxent River, MD  
  
A brandy was on Harm's mind as he walked back into the club after dinner. A quick drink and a hike back to transient quarters were all that was on the agenda when he sat down at the bar, but about half way through the brandy a new distraction popped up.  
  
If Maj. Majorie Gordon, USMC, could disrupt conversations walking into a bunker wearing a poncho and muddy camo utility gear, her current attire could stop an atomic clock. Dressed in a clinging black cocktail outfit accented with the basic pearls and a killer pair of "DoMe" heels she generated a cone of silence around her as she walked, if you dared call it that, across the club to the bar.  
  
Stopped short by Harm's presence, she turned and slipped onto the stool to his right. Lost in other thoughts Harm didn't immediately notice the leggy red head to his right. One hint of exotic perfume, however brought his fighter pilot reactions immediately to the surface and, without conscious thought, he turned to engage.  
  
It took a couple of moments to complete the involuntary target scan from bottom to tawny red top, but once Harm made it to the face belonging to the stunning redhead to his right he was met with a mirror image of his well-practiced killer fighter pilot smile. It was a startling experience, and it took about a three count to realize he recognized the face behind the smile.  
  
"Good evening Major. It's a pleasure to see you here in the Land of the Big PX."  
  
"Captain, 'evening. It's nice to see you too, sir," was the expected, correct response under the circumstances. "By the end of the week you may not be quite so happy to see me, though."  
  
'Flashy Gordon' now had Harm's complete attention. "I would be hard pressed to see that. Being away from the Puzzle Palace and back with the flying troops, coupled with finding a familiar face, makes this a happy moment."  
  
"Captain, one of the little chores I inherited when I was transferred back to the flight evaluation program here at Pax River was command of the training operation. Once you make your way through the switchology side of your transition program, I'll be your flight instructor. I've never had a two-time DFC (Distinguished Flying Cross) winner as a student before." And with monumental insincerity she added, " I can't want to see you at work."  
  
While he was trying to frame an appropriate, dignified reply Flashy hit him with another high voltage smile, said "Good evening, Sir," and took her leave. 


	13. Mastering the Hornet?

1400 Local, August 7, NAS Patuxent River, MD  
  
When he climbed out of the F/A-18 simulator after completing the training mission spelled out in excruciating detail on the profile card clipped on his knee board Harm didn't look like an aviator with over 2,000 hours and more than 200 traps. The sweat-soaked flight suit and damp hair looked more like it belonged on the greenest nugget in the fleet after his first round of carrier qualification traps aboard ship.  
  
"Hammer, grab a Coke or some coffee and let's debrief before the mission gets cold."  
  
1430 Local, August 7 NAS Patuxent River, MD  
  
Lt. Robert "Iron Head" Klumb, USN, walked through the good, bad, and ugly of training syllabus mission G6 highlighting the negatives in substantial detail. "Hammer, you're killing yourself paging too much data through the jet's MFDs (multifunction display screens). You are ALONE IN THE GODDAMN JET and can't possibly process that much shit. While you are occupied looking down at the passing parade of detail the bad guys are busy busting your ass at worst, or, at best, your situational awareness (SA) is going into the toilet.  
  
"I'm going to say this one time: The jet doesn't want to die anymore than you do, so let it work for you. Set up the port side MFD with the weapons shit; the starboard MFD with the electronics, and leave the amidships MFD to handle navigation. You have access to everything you really need to know through the HUD (heads up display on the glare shield). Unlike the Tomcat, you can manage all of the critical weapons and detection functions through HOTAS (hands on throttle and stick).  
  
"Once you are airborne set the jet up and leave the miscellaneous crap alone. If something bad happens, or something breaks, the right emergency checklist jumps up on the starboard MFD by default. Then you follow it. You can fly the wings off the Bug, but if you don't stop messing around in the cockpit trying to be RIO and pilot you're not going to make the grade here."  
  
It had been years since anyone had challenged Harm's skills in the cockpit, and his instant reaction was to be defensive. Giving voice to that reaction would have been the end of the program, and Harm immediately shoved that feeling back into the box.  
  
"Yea, the HOTAS system is awesome, but I'm still fighting it aren't I?"  
  
"Hammer, you will master this. You're so damn close right now it's painful to watch you still not trusting the jet to do its part. Keep your head up. Don't worry about what the jet is doing. It will take care of itself most of the time if you keep the external threats under control.  
  
"Okay, that's enough of a break. Back into the pool and we'll refly the last 10 minutes of G6 and get the G7 mission run this afternoon. That will get you into the air and out of the box. Hell, it's always easier when you can look out the window." With that Iron Head slapped Harm on the back and headed back into the simulation center.  
  
1545 Local, August 7 NAS Patuxent River, MD  
  
Following the G7 mission the debriefing was a lot better from Harm's viewpoint, and he was really starting to feel more at home in the Hornet but there was a lot more to master.  
  
"You've just about got the air-to-air stuff cold, but I'd expect that from an 'ole Tomcat driver. After you've flown the A1 and A2 missions you will be back here for the air-to-mud portion of the program before heading back to the flight line. If you are looking ahead, CARQUALS are always flown either Thursday afternoon or early Friday." With that Harm got a hand shake from Iron Head before heading back to VOQ for a shower and more quality time with the computer learning program before happy hour got into full swing at the club.  
  
1755 Local, August 7 NAS Patuxent River, MD  
  
Skates and Stargazer were standing at one end of the bar when Harm walked into the club. When he spotted his former RIO he headed in that direction for a libation and a little hangar flying. Things didn't appear to be all warm and fuzzy as he walked up. In fact Skates and her nose gunner (pilot) were both a little hot under the khakis. Both officers almost came to attention as he walked up leaving Harm a little puzzled. His long-time RIO's stiff posture was a surprise since he and Skates had been close for years.  
  
The "as you were" was an automatic response, but it should not have been necessary since informality was a critical protocol point in most O- Clubs. After a drink appeared Harm took a moment to study his companions a little more closely, and he didn't like what he saw. Skates had apparently been up in her pilot's face over something, and Stargazer's ego wasn't responding at all well.  
  
Lt. Commander Elizabeth Hawkes' was a senior RIO, in fact before Harm left the fleet she was in the top 10% of naval flight officers flying regular missions, and her partner was a relatively junior lieutenant who had a lot to learn about his RIO.  
  
"Lieutenant, I hate to ask, but can I borrow Skates for a few minutes?" Harm offered to put a little space between the two. Stargazer's response with automatic and evidently sincere, "Yes sir. I need to check in with maintenance anyway. They are supposed to turn our bird over to operations tonight, and I want to be sure there aren't any problems. Excuse me, Sir, commander." With than he vanished into the crowd heading for the telephones.  
  
"Not working and playing well with others Skates?"  
  
"Is than an official request for information, or a sarcastic comment, Sir?"  
  
"Aside from a 'Sir' of questionable sincerity the first time we met on the Henry a zillion years ago, I can't remember the last time it wasn't Hammer or Harm. What's going on in your head and how can I help?"  
  
"Harm, since you obviously don't remember, today's my birthday. I don't mind being 35. I really don't, but I am getting tired of the rest of the crap. When this deployment ends I'm going to ask the CAG to endorse a request for transfer to shore duty somewhere. Stargazer is the third pilot I have had to break in since the cruise started, and I am tired of showing nuggets how to do their job then getting a batch of crap for my trouble.  
  
"Mac told me that when you left the fleet and went back to Washington that you were disenchanted about being a 'dinosaur,' her words not mine, in a ready room full of hot headed youngsters. I feel the same way, but I don't have another trade to fall back on. So, in a nutshell, I'm about burned out, ready for the beach, and don't have a secondary skill. It's a small, hard world for a highly skilled female aerial assassin with three kills and no other trade. What would you suggest?"  
  
As Skates was rolling out her story Harm's mind was running in overdrive, and when she wrapped up he actually had two answers.  
  
"You are too good a RIO to loose just because you're pissed at your new driver, so get over it." Before Skates could get a word in Harm continued. "There isn't any alternative to finishing the cruise, so you are headed back to the fleet. Before you just punch your ticket out, take a look at the inter-service program. The Air Force almost always can find a spot for a back seater with your record for a 12-month ride in a Strike Eagle.  
  
"Think about it. If that doesn't work out I'll find you a job somewhere your skills won't be wasted. Just don't do anything silly in the meanwhile."  
  
The laughter started in the eyes and in moments ran completely through her. "Hammer, that's got to be the most outrageous thing I have ever heard you say. 'Don't do anything silly' That coming from a guy who shot up the ceiling in a courtroom, was involved in a brig break, and holding a second DFC for shoving another Tomcat by the tailhook."  
  
Stargazer made his way back from the phone to find the two laughing like loons holding each other up to avoid rolling on the floor. A ready room scuttlebutt tale played back in a corner of his mind about Skates and Hammer. It was said on the Henry, and elsewhere in the fleet, that they were the pair that in a pinch could beat three of a kind. Now he believed it. 


	14. Training Flight

0645 Local, August 8, Operations, NAS Patuxent River, MD  
  
Even a local training flight generated a ton of paperwork, and Harm was taking some extra time to review the takeoff and weight & balance numbers before his first Hornet hop. His instructor didn't make any effort to be discreet while looking over his shoulder to be sure everything was in order. Flashy Gordon walked through the flight release package initialing each page indicating her acceptance of what her pilot under instruction and the flight-planning computer had generated.  
  
The complete package was signed off and handed to the operations specialist who time/date stamped the documents and in essence handed the keys to the designated bird to the crew. Today's bird had logged 1,507.6 hours and just over 1200 cycles in its lifetime. The maintenance log was clear, and no deferred or open items were on the books. In short the jet was ready to fly.  
  
Takeoff weight would be just under 55,000 pounds, and today's flight would be made with only a pair of AIM-9M air-to-air missiles and a centerline fuel tank mounted to external hard points. According to the gun plumber's paperwork 450 rounds of ammunition were available for the Vulcan 20mm internal cannon. It was a very average load out.  
  
Harm very methodically walked around the Hornet completing the preflight inspection before pausing at the bottom of the crew ladder. "Major, do you want to sign off the acceptance, or should I let the crew chief off the hook this morning?"  
  
Reaching for the clipboard looked briefly at Harm. "Sir, can you touch the jet from where you are standing?"  
  
Puzzled Harm immediately replied, "Of course. Why?"  
  
The response with a very chilly, "Where I come from if you can touch the jet rank goes out the window. Do you have a different protocol flying a desk?"  
  
After mentally counting to 10 by fives Harm pointed to the ladder. "Okay Flashy let's saddle up."  
  
0725 Local, August 8, NAS Patuxent River, MD  
  
The pre engine start checklist was dispatched quickly and the Hornet's two GE turbines were lit off. Once the power cart was pulled Harm signaled the crew chief to pull the nose gear chocks and called ground control for taxi instructions.  
  
Ten minutes later working in the alert crew pulled the safety pins on the Sidewinder missiles and flashed a thumps up. Salutes were exchanged, and Slider 501 nosed out of the hot pit and toward the runway.  
  
"Ready?"  
  
"Fly it as briefed Hammer. Let her rip."  
  
"Slider 501 after takeoff fly heading 105 and maintain five thousand. Clear for takeoff."  
  
"501 five thousand, 105, we're on the roll"  
  
Thrust levers were slid past the afterburner gate; both burners flashed into life as the brakes were released, and less than 90 seconds later Hammer reefed the jet into a climbing turn heading for the Atlantic Range training area.  
  
"Slider 501 contact departure on channel 11"  
  
"Channel 11 for departure. Good day!"  
  
Harm pulled the thrust levers aft through the A/B gate the muted growl of the afterburners vanished. To compensate for the power reduction he took a little deck angle off the to maintain best rate of climb speed.  
  
"Pax departure Slider 501 with you out of 3.9 looking for higher"  
  
"Morning 501 climb and maintain FL230. Turn further right to heading of 120. Out of the turn traffic will be a Delta 737 southbound. He should be below you and no factor."  
  
"Roger 230 and 120. We will be looking."  
  
0740 Local, August 8, FL230, Training Area  
  
Aside from the sounds of breathing on the hot mic system, Harm hadn't heard from his instructor since just before takeoff. "You still with me Flashy? It's been awfully quite back there."  
  
"Just enjoying the ride Hammer. When we get into the range fly the mission just as it's written on the card. You will need to clear both ends of the envelope, so let's run the stall and approach to stall series first. That should take us down to about 10,000 feet. We'll do the speed run and zoom climb back to altitude.  
  
"Remember: The Hornet does not have the Tomcat's mission adaptive wing, so it will tend to get sloppy early so stay on top of it."  
  
0750 Local, August 8, Training Area  
  
Putting the Hornet through its paces at the slow end of the envelope was a workout. Accustomed to the Tomcat's habits Harm had to work hard to stay within the performance criteria spelled out in the mission card. The stall series pulled the flight down to just under 11,000 feet, and that's where the speed run started.  
  
"Hammer, go gate and watch that it doesn't want to pitch up when you use the spurs at this speed. At this weight and configuration we are drag limited to about Mach 1.4, so at 1.35 give me a 2g pull and max climb to 17,000 feet."  
  
"Rog"  
  
Slider 501 bumped through the sound barrier easily and actually didn't start to act like it was all done when Harm eased the stick back into a 2g pitch. Control sensitivity was very different in the Hornet and Harm over pitched the jet bumping up to a 2.4g limit. He eased the backpressure and nailed the max climb speed.  
  
Pushing over at 17,000 feet Harm made the prescribed turn back toward the beach before Flashy was heard from again.  
  
"Okay, we've got some coastal stratus below, so let's make one touch and go on the cloud tops. Call the runway elevation 2,000 feet. Fly initial at 3,400 feet and make a 4g left break. I'll call the end of the runway for you on initial."  
  
Before the maneuver could be set up the radio came alive on the range guard channel. "Who's the Hornet in north range?"  
  
"Slider 501," Harm quickly answered.  
  
"Slider, this is T-Bone with a flight of two. Want to play?"  
  
"T-Bone, Slider's Hammer and Flashy out of Pax River, who you?"  
  
"T-Bone and Dogpound out of ACY. You up for 2 v 1? Weapons safe" Translation: T-Bone and Dogpound were Air Force reserve or national guard pilots operating out of Atlantic City; 2 v 1 is a two ship on one aerial engagement, and the weapons safe comment is self explanatory.  
  
Harm glanced quickly at the radar then looked around and didn't come up with his new friends. "Flashy, you got anything?"  
  
"Hammer, we're going to be BINGO fuel real quick. You may want to think about passing this up and heading for the barn." On one hand the instructor in Flashy was counseling caution. The poorly camouflaged fighter pilot in her she was craning her neck looking. "About four o'clock above us."  
  
No additional thought was required. "T-Bone, the floor is 1,000 feet. Fox-2 and guns only. No (AIM-120) AMRAAMs. Fight's on!" With that Slider- 501 jumped into a climbing left turn as the afterburners lit off. Breathing hard against the 4g loads Harm thumbed the radar into the fire control mode and stepped to the more distant of the two aggressors. The Hornet's Raytheon fire control system almost instantly acquired the targets, snapped to the selected one, and announced acquisition with a hard, growling tone in Harm's ears.  
  
"Shoot him in the face NOW," Flashy grunted under the heavy g load. "Then break hard right. We don't have time to mess with this guy."  
  
"Fox-2, Fox-2. (simulated AIM-9 launch well inside the weapon's firing window) missile The South guy is down," Harm rasped on the radio.  
  
In the interim T-Bone bent his F-16C around the corner trying to bring the Hornet into his firing envelope. He wasn't quick enough as the nimble F/A-18 pirouetted into another high "g" maneuver flashing into an Immelman turn to the left. About half way through the reversal the BINGO fuel light flashed onto the heads up display.  
  
"Fight's off. Fight's off. Slider 501's minimum fuel state. Who's up?"  
  
As the F-16s joined up with the Hornet the radio came to life again. "T- Bone is still alive. That was Dogpound you popped. Thanks for the work. Did you say you're out of Pax River?"  
  
"That affirm, and we're bound for the barn for gas. Thanks for the trade!"  
  
The pair of sleek F-16s rocked their wings and broke away. "Semper Fi Slider!" Harm mentally flinched at the Marine Corps reference no doubt triggered by the jet's USMC markings. "That's Anchors Aweigh, at least in the front hole, but thanks for the sentiment. Slider's out and guard is clear."  
  
"Check your fuel state Hammer. We spent a lot of time in burner with those guys, and I really don't want to walk home."  
  
Harm did the math in his head while he was working to get the computer to give him a more detailed solution. Once the bird did the math it came up with a solution similar to Harm's initial read. "We'll be over the bird farm with about 900 pounds. The weather is good, so we should be good to go."  
  
"Hammer, that's an approach and a very tight go around. Do you feel that lucky?"  
  
"Since there was no alert Texaco (tanker support) on this mission board we're lucky by definition. In any case we're going to nail the landing, so it's a non-issue. In fact, I'm buying if we don't have 900 pounds on board when we shut down."  
  
"Your funeral Hammer. Let's go to the barn."  
  
Rather than punching up the autopilot Harm elected to hand fly the return leg enjoying the challenge and the view as they came up on the Maryland coast. Slider 501 was handed off to Pax River approach 65 nautical miles east of the field descending out of 17,600 feet.  
  
"Morning Pax River. Slider 501's with you out 17,000 with Delta (the current NAS Patuxent River automated information about weather and operations)."  
  
The local air traffic controller immediately started to maneuver the Hornet into sequence for landing. "Slider 501 descend and maintain 13,000. Turn right to heading 280 and intercept the Bluewater Arrival and expect an overhead recovery."  
  
"Okay Hammer, don't do the recovery checklist to yourself. Even if you don't have a backseater, do the checklist out loud. It helps get your head in the right place for the recovery."  
  
Harm walked through the checklist completing the final items just as he was being turned over to the Pax River air traffic control tower. "Slider 501 continue descent to 1,900 feet. You're eleven east of the field and cleared for the overhead approach. Tower now on local channel three."  
  
"Slider 501 going to the tower now. Have a good one."  
  
"Rog, good day."  
  
Slider was heading inbound at a little five miles per minute at this point. "Pax River, Slider 501's nine east for the overhead."  
  
"Slider 501's cleared for the overhead maintain 1,500 until the break. Local speed restriction is 240 knots on initial."  
  
Harm thumbed the microphone switch and acknowledged the local controller. "501 cleared for the overhead approach and maintain 240 on initial. Will call the break midfield."  
  
"Roger 501, you're cleared to land."  
  
At 240 knots the Hornet was covering over four miles per minute, and Harm tossed the Bug into a tight left turn pulling just over 4.5 times the force of gravity on entry.  
  
In an overhead approach the landing aircraft initially flies down the centerline of the landing runway at a relatively high speed (in this case 240 nautical miles per hour) at some 1,500 above the ground. At a selected point above the runway the pilot makes a sharp power reduction, rolls (or pitches) his aircraft into a steep turn. The aerodynamic forces generated in the turn, coupled with the reduced power, slows the aircraft and the pilot deploys the necessary amount of flaps and extends the landing gear as the aircraft circles and descends toward the approach end of the runway. Correctly done this maneuver is a smoothly coordinated exercise in speed reduction and aircraft configuration change culminating in a smooth landing.  
  
With a couple of hundred traps (carrier landings) in his sea bag hitting a 11,500-foot long runway that was standing still was a relatively straightforward exercise. Harm nailed the landing and Slider 501 came to a halt a few minutes later under its crew chief's direction with 922 pounds of jet fuel still on the totalizer.  
  
Harm was sitting in the cockpit finishing the mission paperwork when his instructor finished getting unhooked from the jet. Before climbing down Flashy Gordon made it a point to stick her head into the front cockpit to look at the fuel total readout. Harm put his forefinger on the number and turned to look at his instructor getting a grin and a nod before she vanished below the cockpit rail and jumped off the jet.  
  
The walk from flight line to ops shack was quick and without conversation due to the other aircraft operations noise.  
  
"Grab some coffee and a debriefing cubicle on your way back from the head Captain, and I'll be there in a minute." While waiting for his instructor's return Harm mentally flew parts of the just completed mission one more time in his head to see if there were major deficiencies. He didn't see any.  
  
"If I harbored any doubts that you could fly the airplane they're gone," opened the post mission conversation. "You are as smooth with the jet as anyone with a thousand hours in type, but don't let that go to your head. You flew the card very well, but you flew the mission like a Pentagon chair warmer. That will get you killed."  
  
"Hold up for a second. If my memory is on track after flying the entire mission card, we got a 'kill,' hit the fuel return number and aced the landing. Where are the nugget mistakes?"  
  
Flashy knitted her fingers into a tent under her chin and gave her 'student' a long cold stare before responding.  
  
"First mistake: The Atlantic training area is a hot area with Air Force, Navy, and Marine training in progress 24/7 which means it can be an engagement zone at any time. So, wouldn't you, at a minimum, have the jet's radar up in the target acquisition (T/A) mode? If you had been up in the correct mode it would have been a lot harder for a pair of weekend warriors to sneak up on you. If those guys had been hauling AMRAAMs (AIM-120 fire and forget air-to-air missiles with a range of more than 40 miles) you would have been dead meat before you really were in the game.  
  
"You have warrior credentials, but if you don't keep you sword sharp some goofball is going to kill you and that's embarrassing as hell.  
  
"Second mistake: you didn't have good awareness of your fuel state. You had an idea, but didn't have it nailed. The jet will do a lot of that busy work, but you've got to set the data up where it's usable. It took you too many steps to get a number after you got a BINGO indication. If that guy T-Bone had been a little tighter on his wingman and made a more aggressive engagement you would have been confronted with a fight or run decision that had bad implications no matter which way it went.  
  
"Hammer you can fly the jet by yourself. But before you get clear of here you're going to have to convince me you can also fight it. That's going to take some work. Clear?" 


	15. Turning Points

August 9, 2001, 0645 Local, Eclipse Coffee Connection, Diego Garcia, Indian Ocean  
  
Mac was dying for a cup of coffee, and the O-Club java, in her opinion, wasn't fit to drink, particularly if the need for taste and high- test caffeine coincided. All in all the intelligence conference had been a waste of time in her opinion. No new information was shared. Harm had been 'kidnapped' by Tom Boone and hadn't made the trip (another lost opportunity). Her boss wasn't a happy camper about the lack of new data. About the only thing that made the five-hour ride worthwhile was seeing Bud again.  
  
Now she had some bad news to share, and she wanted to get it behind her ASAP before she had a chance to think about the ramifications of the message from her boss that was waiting when she logged onto the system this morning.  
  
"I hope you didn't pack any aloha shirts for the trip, Bud," she opened once he sat down. "Gen. Buckner has snagged you for a trip up to the 3rd MEU for a few days. Apparently your 'expertise' in converting policy to ROE (rules of engagement) somewhere along the trail is coming back to haunt you. It seems that Adm. Boone and my boss have selected you as the official interpreter of a batch of new guidance that's coming down the pike, and your reward will be a relaxing sea cruise rather than a long flight either to Hawaii or back to the states in a cramped, cold, noisy airplane."  
  
The change of plans didn't really register immediately, and Bud blinked a couple of times while the message processed. He laughed a little ruefully once the implications of Mac's words soaked through. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised, particularly since I was involved in a lot of the darn ROE debate before I came over here." With a shrug the younger officer absorbed the news and turned his attention to the coffee house's internet connection as he checked his e-mail.  
  
Mac soaked up the high-test coffee while mentally getting ready for a five hour ride back to the Gulf. As the two officers made their various preparations for the flight reams of new intelligence data and Pentagon policy documents were sizzling through cyberspace on the way to the 3rd MEU's command structure. Most of it was routine. Some of it was VERY new and challenging. None of it, however, offered clear guidance about what was ahead.  
  
August 10, 2001, 0715 Local, Operations, NAS Patuxent River, MD  
  
The leading chief in the ops office shoved a stack of paperwork across the counter to Harm. "Here's your weather package Captain. Looks like a good day for your QUALS (carrier qualification flight). Visibility is about four miles offshore in some haze, and the sea state should give you a real stable platform."  
  
As he was leafing through the flight release package Harm's instructor breezed into the office for a few last minute words of wisdom. 'Flashy Gordon' gave her student a long look before opening. "Don't sweat today's stuff. You're solid in the jet. Just remember it's a Plastic Bug not a Tomcat, so you will be a little hotter on the approach. Just do the same things we did yesterday with the shipboard bounce drill: Fly the ball; watch the indexer (angle of attack indicator), and don't hit the spud locker."  
  
Before walking away Harm also got a request: "Hammer, the CAG on Enterprise is an old friend. If you get a couple of minutes while you're embarked can you pass along my best?  
  
"With any luck you'll be ashore by 1730. See you at the club." With that the tall, red head sauntered out of operations. Harm picked up his personal gear and headed for the crew bus and a trip to the flight line.  
  
August 10, 2001, 0825 Local, Buster 22, Atlantic Training Range  
  
"Morning Home Plate, Buster 22 is with you descending out of 16,000."  
  
The approach controller had a pronounced Texas twang when he replied, "Mornin' Buster 22, descend and maintain 6,000 and fly heading 080. Y'ur number three for the boat. I'll have a turn in on initial for you in 'bout six miles."  
  
Harm got busy cleaning up the Super Hornet's cockpit as he stepped through the in range checklist before his approach controller turned him inbound for the deck. "Buster 22, left now to 010 and maintain 2,000 feet. You're three miles in trail of your traffic and number three for the deck." As he acknowledged the controller Harm was able to pick up traces of the Big E's wake through the broken clouds. Descending through 3,000 feet he was in the clear and able to see the ship's wake like an arrow pointing toward the carrier.  
  
"Buster 22 maintain 2,000 'til the break; speed on initial is 240. Your traffic will be breaking downwind in about 1 mile. Contact final controller local channel two on the break. So long!"  
  
Harm punched the radio over to the next channel in time to hear the pair of Tomcats he was following be handed off to the ship's LSO (landing signal officer) on their break. For the next 60 seconds or so it would be a quiet ride as the Hornet sailed toward the ship a four miles per minute, but once abeam of the ship and into the break Harm would be on the most unique hot seat in aviation as he maneuvered the F/A-18 through the pattern and trapped (landed) on the Enterprise.  
  
A final, quick pull at the restraining straps had Harm and Buster 22 ready for the approach as they zoomed over the flight deck 2,000 feet above the water at 240 knots.  
  
The calm, professional controller's voice called the start of the aerial ballet. "Buster 22 roger the break, keep the pattern in close with traffic three miles in trail. Monitor local channel 7 and call the ball."  
  
As he sharply reduced the power with his left hand Harm pitched the Hornet into a hard left break (turn) pulling just over four times the force of gravity in the bargain. A large portion of the Hornet's energy was bled off in the break and as he rolled out heading downwind away from the ship he was slowing through 200 knots. A couple of quick hand movements selected the second notch of flaps, and once the flaps were deployed the landing gear and the arresting hook followed them.  
  
A quick glance over his left shoulder confirmed the Enterprise was correctly positioned for another sharp left turn, and when the 180 degree course reversal was complete Enterprise was ahead and slightly to the left as the Hornet's speed stabilized at just under 180 knots.  
  
"Buster 22 ball! Super Hornet. Fuel two-point-two (Translation: Buster 22 sees the ship's illuminated landing guidance system. The aircraft is an F/A-18 Super Hornet with 2,200 pounds of fuel on board. The aircraft type and fuel load are vital for the correct adjustment of the carrier's arresting gear.)  
  
The assistant LSO picked up the inbound Hornet visually right away and noted that the aircraft was well positioned in the 'slot' with gear, flap, and hook deployed for arrival while the senior LSO monitored a Tomcat's booming arrival. Once the F-14D was safely aboard the LSO, a very senior Commander with over 350 traps in his logbook turned his attention to the arriving Hornet.  
  
Just under one mile from the ship Harm and the LSO were looking at opposite ends of a highly complex ballet of airspeed, power, angle of attack, altitude and sink rate. When all of the elements were managed correctly the jet hit the flight deck at over 160 miles per hour and the hook engaged arresting wire number three and was halted. If any of the variables were off to a significant degree the pilot, the jet and the ship were put at risk.  
  
One step ahead of the Hornet all of the way down Harm caught the three wire and trapped aboard Enterprise on his first pass. As the flight deck plane handlers marshaled Buster 22 into its parking spot something Flashy Gordon said really struck home.  
  
"Hammer, you aren't 25 anymore. You don't have the reflexes to 'jump' out of trouble, but you've got the experience to see it coming and take action before things get out of hand. Use your superior judgment so you don't have to bet on your superior airmanship."  
  
August 10, 2001, 0900, On board USS Enterprise, Atlantic Training Range  
  
After his knock a muffled voice sounded through the closed door, "Enter," and Harm stepped through the opening into the CAG's (Commander Air Group) office reflexively coming to attention waiting for the ship's boss airman to put him at ease.  
  
"Relax. Haven't been exercising either the new fourth stripe or the silver chicken much as sea have you Harm? Grab a chair and I'll get us some coffee on the way." Capt. William "Little Bill" Butler had been one year ahead of Harm at the Academy and was about nine months senior in rank. "What's with the 'junior birdman' program Hammer? I thought you and Adm. Boone were busy plotting the overthrow of the navy, as we know it."  
  
With a chuckle Harm just shrugged. "I don't know about that. As far as I can tell I'm just one more dazed, confused junior officer in a sea filled with stars."  
  
"Harm, I don't think you are going to be able to sell that part of the Brooklyn Bridge here. The way I hear it you're sitting at the right hand of God in all of this force realignment horseshit. But, enough yapping about things I can't change. What's on your mind?"  
  
Little Bill had always been a little tight wrapped for Harm's taste, but it looked like he was made for the CAG's job on Enterprise, and, frankly, Harm was for a couple of moments envious. Had fate taken a different turn he could see himself as the CAG somewhere, but that wasn't slated to happen.  
  
"Flashy Gordon is my transition instructor, and she asked me to pass along her best. For a Marine she's a heck of an instructor, and I will bet she's not happy flying some paper program at Pax River rather with a squadron."  
  
Little Bill took a moment to consider a reply before proceeding. "Harm, she's more than that. She's a helluva Marine, and if the Corps will ever get its head completely out of its ass she'll be a first-rate squadron commander. In fact, in a few years, she should have a fist full of stars on her shoulders and be running something bigger than a squadron.  
  
"Shit, be thankful she's a jarhead. If she were in the Navy you and I would be looking over our shoulders at her. Don't let the drop-dead looks get in the way. She's an officer on the way up.  
  
"Now that you've got the pleasantries out of the way, did you just make your final trap?"  
  
"No, LB, just the first one with four more to put in the book before heading back to the beach. With any luck I'll only need a quick gas and go on the final trap and recover at Pax River in time for happy hour."  
  
A quick, tight grin from Little Bill was all that Harm got. "On the beach? Happy hour? Wow, that's a plan for the day. We're two days into a five month cruise, so I am guessing it will be a few days before any of our guys are concerned about either the beach or happy hour. By the way: How was the trap?"  
  
"It felt good to me LB. I didn't see the LSO scoring, but I'll take it."  
  
The CAG finally broke a real smile. "You don't need to see the Greenie Board to know it would have put you at the head of the class. I told the video king to save the tapes and plan to use them to show how to get a Plastic Bug aboard the right way. Harm, make one more like the first one and get a pair of clean cat shots in the bargain, and I will sign you off myself.  
  
"I'll talk with the air boss to be sure we run you straight through on your next trap. That way you won't have to screw around waiting on deck for a respot to launch. Our ops tempo is pretty low right now, so the boss should be able to just have the deck apes taxi you directly into the launch line unless the visual inspection shows something on the bird."  
  
With that handshakes were exchanged and Harm headed below to get his mandatory weather briefing and launch release paperwork.  
  
August 10, 2001, 0947 Local, On board USS Enterprise, Atlantic Training Range  
  
As soon as the bridle was attached to the nose gear of Buster 22 the crew scrambled out of the way; the catapult officer gave the Super Hornet a quick visual inspection, and Harm completed his final cockpit checks. Everything was 'okay' inside and out so the catapult officer gave the classic spin 'em up signal and the Hornet's two GE turbines wound up to maximum rated power. Satisfied with what he saw on the engine instruments Harm slid the Hornet's two thrust levers through their respective afterburner gates and the bird hurled itself against the holdback bridle with a vengeance.  
  
Salutes were exchanged and the cat boss leaned forward and touched the deck signaling the shooter to fire. When the petty officer operating the Big E's starboard catapult mashed the launch button a massive burst of steam pressure blasted out of the accumulator and rammed the piston forward accelerating the Hornet from a dead stop to a little over 140 knots.  
  
The dart shaped Hornet dipped slightly as it cleared the ships bow, but with a little backpressure on the stick started a slight climb as Harm patiently waited for the speed to build up. At a little over 175 knots Harm started an easy turn to the right to clear the ships path to make way for the next launch and, more importantly, get the aircraft away from the ship.  
  
Ditching in the moments after launch due to a mechanical failure was exciting enough without worrying about being run down by thousands of tons of carrier.  
  
Since he was launched from the starboard forward cat Harm would bend the bird around into a right downwind entry into the Big E's traffic pattern, and he contacted the ship's approach controller climbing out of 3,000 feet.  
  
"Homeplate, Buster 22 out of three turning downwind closed traffic."  
  
"Roger Buster 22, contact, fly heading 190 and maintain five. You are number six for the ship. Expect a seven-mile turn to final. Are you a trap or a bang and go?"  
  
Despite himself Harm grinned into the oxygen mask. "Buster 22 will be a trap with any luck."  
  
"You bet. You're number six."  
  
Abeam the navy's original nuclear powered aircraft carrier Harm paused to take a long look at the now aging carrier. He had never made a cruise on the Big E, and was a little saddened by the thought. Enterprise was heading for the Med and he was heading back to the puzzle palace. Each with their respective duties, but he was envious of the sailors and airmen who were headed out for the cruise. At least they knew what they were supposed to accomplish over the next six months.  
  
The radio chatter had been almost non stop, but, like virtually all long-time aviators Harm had the unique ability to turn the noise out unless it was pertinent to his operation. After a few long minutes he was headed back to the ship.  
  
"Buster 22, right now to 220 and maintain three thousand until you have the ship in sight. Approach now on local channel five for the final controller."  
  
"Rog, approach, thanks!"  
  
First the ship's boiling white wake was visible and a shallow turn a little more to the right revealed Enterprise steaming away at just over 30 knots. Harm punched up the proper channel for the next controller and checked on the frequency. "Buster 22's with you three thousand with the bird farm in sight."  
  
"Morning Buster 22, you're number two for the ship with traffic on one mile final. Reduce to 200 and maintain current heading. I'll have a right turn back to the final approach course for you in about 90 seconds."  
  
"Rog, copy"  
  
During the 90-second pause the approach checklist was completed.  
  
"Buster 22 right now to 350. Call the ball this frequency."  
  
As the Hornet rolled out of the turn Harm picked up the visual landing system just over two miles astern of the ship. Hands moved over the gear lever and the second notch of flaps was selected. While the gear and flaps cycled the arresting hook locked into position.  
  
"Buster 22 ball. Super Horner 1.8"  
  
"Buster 22, paddles (landing signal officer) looking good. Keep her coming."  
  
The straight-in approach coupled with the last minute maneuvering made this approach much busier and much quicker than the first landing, and Harm was working hard to stay ahead of the approach. A very quick final cockpit check assured that the gear was indeed down and the airplane properly configured for the approach."  
  
A glowing green ball was illuminated in the middle of the angle of attack indicator, and everything was nailed down as the Hornet bobbled through the area of disturbed air left along the final approach course by the wind disturbed passing around carrier's island. The main gear hit just up the deck from the number two arresting wire and the trailing hook caught the number three wire trapping the aircraft dragging it quickly to a halt.  
  
Harm was marshaled quickly up the deck as one of the purple shirted fueling crew held up a board indicating the amount of fuel that would be added to the Hornet, per the original briefing. As soon as the engines were shut down the fueling operation started, and just under 10 minutes later, following a by-the-book restart Buster 22 was settling into the ship's port side, forward catapult.  
  
The little beep that indicated a secure radio link on the guard channel caught Harm's attention as he worked through the final launch checklist. Little Bill was on the horn with the final grade: "Good job, Hammer. Enjoy the ride to the beach, and tell your instructor I said hello."  
  
Harm keyed the secure system," Rog, LB. Have a good cruise."  
  
Off to the aircraft's starboard quarter the catapult crew signaled they were ready, and the dance was on again. Harm's head was shoved back against the ejection seat headrest by the catapult and the Hornet came alive again.  
  
The ride back to Pax River was uneventful with a by-the-book recovery logged and the paperwork was complete by 1445 local. Flashy Gordon did her instructor pilot magic with the paperwork and the deal was done.  
  
A little sad smile graced the major's face while she shook Harm's hand. "Since, we're both without a squadron to celebrate with, I'll see you at the club at 1830 and we can 'wet down' a new aircraft qualification and another successful CARQUAL."  
  
Capt. Harmon Rabb could officially add the F/A-18 Super Hornet officially to the list of aircraft he was legally qualified to fly. Now if he could just negotiate the rocks and shoals of his changing political and personal life, as successfully 2001 could be a great year he thought.  
  
August 10, 2001, 1620 Local, At sea with the 3rd MEU  
  
Gunny Max O'Grady jumped to attention as his boss and a naval officer in mussed khakis stepped out of the sally port and into the intelligence section. Mac quickly put her leading NCO at ease with an automatic "as you were."  
  
"Colonel Mac it's good to see you back. A ton of crap has been spewing out of every secure channel on the damn ship, and most of it doesn't appear to make much sense at least to we mere mortals."  
  
A quick look around and a laugh put Mac back into her element. "Max, I have never seen anything that a 'superior' gunny couldn't decipher. Should I rethink your last FITREP (fitness report)?" Before the career NCO could respond his leader continued.  
  
"The Navy's benevolent Gods have stirred on Mount Olympus and Commander Roberts has been sent to help us see the light." Gesturing at Bud she rolled on. "The Commander has interrupted his trip to the tropical paradise of Pearl Harbor to join us briefly and assist in translating the holy scrolls into actual guidance and, with any luck, some real ROE revisions."  
  
While Bud fought back a small blush from the compliment O'Grady just shrugged and looked from one officer to the other. "With all due respect ma'am, sir, I'm not sure anyone is going to be able to convert all of this contradictory bullshit from the Tower of Babel into something worthwhile."  
  
TBC 


	16. Troubles and Challenges Everywhere

Author's Note: A couple of minor changes have been made to clean up the time line.  
  
August 10, 2001, 1825 Local, Officers Club, NAS Patuxent River, MD  
  
Friday's Happy Hour drink specials and the "bachelor chow" buffet had drawn quite a crowd, so the maneuvering was a little slow getting from the door of the crowded club to the bar. Along the way Harm nodded to a few acquaintances and shook a number of hands. There were only a couple of seats left at one end, and since Flashy Gordon wasn't in sight at the moment he grabbed the last stool at the right end of the bar putting his cover on the seat while standing behind it.  
  
The Silver eagles on his collar points caught the attention of one of the bar tenders who hustled down. "Evening sir, what can I get you this evening?" On one hand a double Crown Royal neat sounded like the right medicine, on the other a beer was probably a better choice so he asked for a San Miguel. The first icy drink of the wonderful Philippine brew hit the spot, so with beer in hand he turned to peer into the club looking for his instructor.  
  
It was nearly 1845 before the tall Marine aviator appeared. The green Nomex flight suit and leather jacket made it obvious that she had been working. Greetings were exchanged before the bar tender could make it back to the end of the bar.  
  
"Another sir?" Harm nodded pointing before pointing to his left. "I'm sorry ma'am. What can I get for you?"  
  
"A Jose Cuervo 1880 and one of what the Captain is having."  
  
August 10, 2001, 1905 Local, Officers Club, NAS Patuxent River, MD  
  
Harmon Rabb, Jr., and Marjorie Gordon were two peas from the same pod for all practical purposes. Both were aggressive, direct, driven, shared a passion for aviation, and a common devotion to their duties. To some degree both were adrift professionally, and that finally became part of the conversation.  
  
"Hammer, what are you going to do when your current deal is wrapped up? I can't see you staying at the Pentagon as a chair warmer. Are you going back to JAG? The scuttlebutt is that you're the chosen son over there, and some other guy is just keeping the seat warm for you"  
  
His answer was a long time coming. "Flashy I don't know what's in the cards. When I went back to a squadron a while back it took about six months to realize I was a fairly senior Commander who had been passed by younger people. My future in naval aviation is nonexistent. I can't see myself going to a PACFLEET as JAG for three or four years to get ready to come back to Washington. With the stuff my current job involves I wouldn't be surprised at anything. What about you? This gig can't be a PCS (permanent change of station) for you."  
  
While their conversation continued the two gradually moved without thinking into each other's personal space creating a very intimate scene at the end of the bar.  
  
August 10, 2001, 2025 Local, Officers Club, NAS Patuxent River, MD  
  
"Hammer, I hate to do this, but I've got to head down the road." The news came very reluctantly to her lips. "Tomorrow's an early day at the gym, and I've got to be back in the office to fly the duty desk from 1000 to 1800."  
  
Harm took in the stunning red head's aquamarine eyes and almost drowned in their depth. For just a second he was lost and had to mentally shake himself to nod ever so reluctantly.  
  
"I'm heading back to Washington early," he mumbled absently, "and I have no idea what happens then. Do we shake hands and say, 'see 'ya around the campus?'"  
  
She leaned in close and kissed him before stepping completely into an embrace and whispering, "Only if you want to shake hands.  
  
"I've got to go RIGHT NOW, but please call. You know where to find me."  
  
With that she turned and walked resolutely out of the club. Harm stood still a little dumb struck watching her walk away drinking in the moment.  
  
For about two seconds it was a perfect world.  
  
Then another voice growled into his consciousness. "Well now that the Victoria's Secret model has fled the scene how about buying a poor Brooklyn girl a drink Hammer?"  
  
"Skates? What are you doing here? I thought you and Stargazer took a 14D back to the fleet the other day."  
  
Elizabeth Hawkes peered at her friend, pilot, and lifeline and didn't like what she saw.  
  
"It never happened. The CAG pulled me off the ride for a few days TAD to represent him at a conference then he's arranged for me to represent the wing at a conference in Washington September 1-15 before heading back to the boat. Now let's get to the important shit. What's your excuse for swapping spit with the wrong Marine?"  
  
August 10, 2001, 2125 Local, At sea with the 3rd MEU  
  
Mac was clearly exasperated based on her tone of voice and body language. "Bud, there's got to be a way to expand the 'need to know' window on some of this horseshit. We don't have enough staff to work through all of this crap in a timely manner without some additional help, and Gen. Buckner is really getting impatient about the lack of guidance available to the MEU orders group."  
  
"Ma'am, we don't have any choice here. Virtually all of the incoming data is based on the Cranberry Cove options, and, aside from you and Gen. Bucker, I'm the only one onboard with enough clearance to look at all of this.  
  
"Let's try this on the general: I can give his staff the regular TS (top secret) briefing that we used at CENTCOM. This will characterize most of the options that are being formalized and give the orders group more insight into the thinking behind the blizzard of new pages coming in for the general operations planning document.  
  
"Ma'am it's not a lot, but that's as good as it gets right now." Bud's slight shrug was about all that was left.  
  
A slow, careful look at her one-time protégé showed a dramatically different Bud Roberts. The quick smile and bashful wit were still here, but the self-confidence and general air of authority were new and really looked good on the younger officer.  
  
"Bud," Mac laughed, "we're the only people in the ship's most secure conference room. The government spent God only knows how million to be sure what is said here stays here. Don't you think we can be Mac and Bud while the damn hatch is closed?  
  
"It's a hard habit to break ma'am; I mean Mac."  
  
Walking to the coffee pot sitting on the sideboard in the conference room she spoke over her shoulder. "Bud, I really need to ask some leading questions here, but I do not want to press anything you aren't comfortable in discussing. Are you okay with that idea?" All she got was an obviously very careful nod in return.  
  
"Some of the operational concepts in this new package are very, very different from the more classical roles assigned to the Corps. Are we moving more quickly on phase one of the force realignment package that's causing so much scuttlebutt? If so, what's this do to our support and our logistics tail?  
  
"Most of the outlined options will potentially put us way out in front of our logistics chain and leave a long, very vulnerable route to keep us supplied. Who's responsible for that security?  
  
"If either the Iraqi or Afghan options are implemented what happens to the 3rd? If someone sounded the charge right now we can't project enough force in either potential theater quickly enough to cover our backside. That makes us either a trip-wire force or a sacrificial lamb to hold the line while someone else gets his or her shit together. That's not very comfortable."  
  
Bud had listened to that very argument time and again from Tom Boone and Harm during the time he was TAD in the Pentagon basement before being shipped to the Gulf. Those discussions were frequently heated but in the final analysis it came down to this: If someone decided to throw a come as you are war in the Middle East the goddamn Marines, along with everybody else, would have to do the best they could with what they had.  
  
He also knew that acting under the Secretary of Defense's orders substantial quick reaction forces were being prepared for use in the Gulf, but the intelligence officer for the 3rd Marine Expeditionary Unit didn't have a need to know.  
  
"I've heard that point made before Mac. It's a tough nut." With that he shrugged.  
  
Once more Mac considered the young officer in depth as she walked around the compartment before speaking. 'I've heard those words and that sentiment before. Where? Jesus! Bud isn't just a JAG mouthpiece over here to translate some official bullshit. He's been involved, no that's wrong; he's been directly involved in part of these changes. That's the only possible explanation.'  
  
Sitting down directly across the table from Bud she formed her fingers into a tent touching her lips before speaking again.  
  
"Now I know where your tone and demeanor at the meeting on the Rock came from. You didn't get hijacked to fill in for Harm and take notes. You are involved in the project Harm's working!" Once the words were out it all snapped into place. The Boone board couldn't take action without counsel. Harm couldn't serve as general counsel and be the CAG's deputy. That would be a dangerous conflict of interest.  
  
A newly promoted Commander was the de facto general counsel. All of the scuttlebutt about what the CAG and Harm were involved in said it was a potential career killer. And her friend was standing with the group in the cross hairs. Involuntarily she shoved her chair back from the long table and started pacing the length of the room.  
  
"Bud, you've lost your freaking mind! You may have been hijacked into Tom Boone's little circus, but you've thrown completely in with those Mavericks. In fact I'll bet my pension that you participated completely in the development of the shit I've seen and more that hasn't seen the light of day yet.  
  
"This stuff blends set piece, air mobile, and unconventional war fighting into a single package using essentially a single force, and, more to the point, it assumes a level of training that isn't real today. Hell, it might not be real for years to come." As the idea ran free in her mind her thoughts ran along two opposing tracks.  
  
Mac's warrior side was amazed, intrigued, and challenged by the idea of having more options available closer to the point of contact. The cautious, deliberate side of her personality was infuriated.  
  
'Why am I so pissed off?' she thought. 'Let me count the reasons. 1. We're throwing 225-plus years of Marine Corps experience and training up into the air just to see where it lands; 2. The guys behind some, no most of this are a former SEAL working under the color of the SECDEF, a shoot first and ask questions later admiral who was virtually run off into retirement, and a brand new Navy captain who is obviously off on another fucking crusade, and 3. Okay I'll only admit this to myself; they've co- opted a dear friend of mine into this Don Quixote battle with the Pentagon's bureaucratic windmills.' This moment of introspection took about four heartbeats, then Mac stopped directly across from where Bud was sitting, put both hands on the back of a chair gripping it so tightly her knuckles were sheet white.  
  
Focusing all of her well-honed, formidable command presence on the officer across the table. "Why?" The question echoed around the room then there was a thundering silence.  
  
Bud Roberts' flair for the dramatic gesture was a talent that even he did know he possessed, but a great drama writer couldn't have better scripted his reaction.  
  
Five, ten, fifteen seconds passed before he pushed his chair back and came to attention locking Sarah MacKenzie with a matching, unblinking stare.  
  
"Because, MA'AM, they are right." 


	17. Familiar Faces, Different People

Author's note: If you are a Saint Harmon reader or a Mac apologist now is the time to stop reading. The ride gets a little rough from here.  
  
August 10, 2001, 2030 Local, Officers Club, NAS Patuxent River, MD  
  
'Of all of the gin joints in all the world,' Harm mentally paraphrased the classic line in Casablanca, 'why does Skates have to be in this one right now?' Obviously no suitable answer was available.  
  
Skates and Hammer were closer than most husbands and wives. Thrown together strictly by chance early in their careers they just 'clicked.' It was obvious to everyone who flew with them, or commanded them for that matter. There were no secrets between them, nor were there any hidden agendas. In the air they worked as one person. Away from the airplane they were as different as daylight and dark, but they were still one.  
  
That was great most of the time, but right now wasn't one of those moments. In fact Harm absently wished a falling satellite would crash into the club or an earthquake would split the ground open so one of them could just vanish because that was all that would stop the conversation that was about to take place.  
  
"I don't suppose," Harm ventured, "we can tell war stories, entertain the entire club, just drink ourselves into oblivion and have certain parts of this evening go away can we?"  
  
Skates whistled for the alcohol relocation engineer while making a circling motion with her finger over the empties sitting on the bar and another round appeared like a magic trick.  
  
She picked her margarita up and held it toward Harm. No thought was required to mirror the gesture. The long neck of the San Miguel bottle and the squat container of cactus juice clinked. "Absent companions" was the toast.  
  
"You know, I thought you and Mac had it 'going on' this time. Shit, I mean it's been how many years? When I saw you the other day it sounded like good things were happening. You're not the girl in every port kind of sailor, so what's up Doc?"  
  
The only way to avoid a long-winded discussion was probably to go immediately on the offensive. "Oh for Christ's sake Skates," he blustered. "A kiss in a bar isn't anything. In fact I blew through the Super Hornet transition program this week and finished my quals today, so a wetting down was in order, and I don't think a kiss from your instructor at the end of the day is exactly a seismic event."  
  
"Ah, come on Hammer, try to peddle that bullshit to someone else. I'm not buying that part of the Brooklyn Bridge. A wetting down kiss is like a slap on the back, a handshake, or a hug. It's just something that you do during the tall tale telling and hand flying, so we can dismiss that weak ass explanation.  
  
"And don't even start down the barroom grab ass road. No matter how you try that story it's not going to work. A: That's not your style; B: If it was your style I got to tell you I'd be pissed, really pissed."  
  
Involuntarily Harm's brow furrowed when he tried to process that section of Skates' speech.  
  
The conversation was getting heated. "Why would I be pissed? You need to think about that for a second smart guy. You and I have been drunk and disorderly in establishments around the world, and you've never grabbed me in a bar for any reason other than to keep me from falling on my ass. What kind of goddamn message do you think that sends to my cleverly disguised feminine side?"  
  
By now Skates was up in Harm's face with the index finger of her left hand shoved under his sternum for emphasis. You couldn't have slipped the ham from a ballpark sandwich between the two. Even the jaded bar tender was hooked watching.  
  
There wasn't anything else left to do. He kissed her. She kissed him. It took a long time to come up for air.  
  
"No! We're not going to do this. We've been here before," Skates managed to get out while struggling for a breath. "Now, what's going on?"  
  
With a deep breath Harm started on a long story about personal and professional love, loss, and frustration. It took a long time and a lot of beer and tequila. At some point along the trail the same random, prophetic thought crossed both minds: "God, tomorrow is going to be a bad day."  
  
August 11, 2001, 0715 Local, At sea with the 3rd MEU  
  
Mac found LCDR Roberts in the wardroom nursing a second cup of coffee, and she quickly discovered that last night's conversation hadn't been forgotten. Her warm greeting was met with a very chilly, formal "Good morning ma'am."  
  
Before she could think of anything that would possibly warm the conversation he gathered his breakfast gear and shoved the chair back. "If you will excuse me ma'am, I need to get my briefing materials together for this morning's conference." With that he was gone.  
  
August 11, 0805 Local, At sea with the 3rd MEU  
  
After Gen. Buckner's introduction Bud walked to the conference room podium touching the switch to dim the room's lights before triggering the first slide of his presentation. When the title slide came up he started.  
  
"Ladies and gentlemen this morning's briefing is classified TOP SECRET. I am sure everyone here understands the implications of that classification, and the UCMJ (Uniform Code of Military Justice) and other federal statutes establish severe penalties for improper disclosure of any of the materials we are about to cover.  
  
"As we proceed I am sure a number of questions will come up. I will not answer some of them. Please do not draw any unwarranted conclusions from that refusal. In some cases there are simply no answers. In other cases you may assume that you do not have a 'need to know.'"  
  
With that preamble the Third Marine Expeditionary Unit's journey into coping with the vague, shadowy world of transnational terrorism was started."  
  
August 11, 2001, 1115 Local, At sea with the 3rd MEU  
  
Gen. Buckner moved to the podium when Bud relinquished his post at the head of the room. "Good briefing Commander. Thank you. Now, ladies and gentlemen we have some new insight into how the changes in our various threat scenarios have been developed and we have a good deal more knowledge about how we will need to respond.  
  
"The orders group will meet in the vault at 1400. Enjoy your lunch; it will be a busy afternoon. Dismissed!"  
  
The room came to attention then started filing out.  
  
"Commander Roberts, a word if you please."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"Bud, pleasantries aside, that was a good briefing. I wish you had been able to be more detailed in some instances, but we've got a lot more to work with now. I also have some good news for you: there's a spot on the 1600 shuttle to the Stennis where you've got a 1730 meeting with the battle group commander and the BG's intel guy. I am also reliably informed that you are set for the 0900 COD to Bahrain and on to the states.  
  
"It's been a pleasure. When you want to get away from pushing paper around I'm sure the BG commander can find a slot for you. And, in the event the Navy doesn't see your potential, I am sure the Corps can use you. Good luck and God speed Roberts."  
  
"Yes sir, thank you sir."  
  
Without so much as a nod in Mac's direction Bud gathered his briefing materials, picked up the Power Point disc and walked out of the room.  
  
August 11, 2001, 1220 Local, At sea with the 3rd MEU  
  
Mac was standing on the quarterdeck looking over the hazy Persian Gulf when Bud walked up behind her. "Excuse me ma'am," he opened saluting when she turned. The salute was returned and a difficult silence settled on the scene for a moment or two.  
  
"Is there anything for the Admiral or Capt. Rabb before I go ma'am?" The frost in that question was a little chilling.  
  
"No. Nothing for either the Admiral or Harm, but I have something for you. Bud, I am sorry that I jumped you last night. It was inexcusable. This floating around with the weapon half cocked all of the time is really getting to me.  
  
"We don't know shit about what's going on with most of the players. Webb's conviction that something big is in the wind doesn't help at all.  
  
"Bud, I'm really sorry."  
  
If Mac was looking for any dispensation for her sins from Bud Roberts it wasn't coming right now.  
  
"With respect ma'am I can see how difficult it is being caught between wind and water here, but that doesn't get us past the idea that you, at least for that moment, thought that I had been either duped or that I hadn't considered all of the information that I had access too before making a decision.  
  
"I'll tell Harriett you said 'hi.' Now, if you will excuse me." He walked away leaving Mac to stare out to sea again.  
  
August 11, 2001, 0715 Local, Fairfield Inn, Three Notch Rd., Lexington Park, MD  
  
'God, the hot water feels good,' Harm thought as the shower cascaded over him. The steam, hot water, and handful of Advil had done wonders over the last 20 minutes. With any luck, he thought absently, 'I'll survive to live another day. If some nut on the drive back up state route 235 to Washington doesn't kill me that is.'  
  
The shower curtain's rattling rudely interrupted his reverie. A slap on the ass along with the exhortation to move brought him back to earth.  
  
"I don't know what's worse. Your thrashing around getting out of bed was bad, but the idea that you're running through the hotel's entire supply of hot water standing here day dreaming was completely, totally unacceptable. Now, get out of the shower or at least move your ass and let me get some hot water."  
  
"Okay, okay, it's all yours, but for Pete's sake try to remember you are ashore. 'Hollywood showers' are okay." With that Harm beat a hasty retreat from the bathroom finding a pair of swat pants along the way.  
  
He was deeply involved in the Saturday Washington Post when the bathroom door opened.  
  
Elizabeth Hawkes stepped through the door wrapping a towel that was far too small for the task around her. It was a waste of effort. "Oh fuck it!" She dropped the towel kicking it back into the bathroom before walking across the room and flopping onto the bed. She pulled the sheet up and rolled over to be next to Harm.  
  
"Well, Harm, it would appear that we've done it again." There were touches of whimsy and sadness in her voice. "We've got to stop this." He simply gathered her into his arms stroking her damp hair. "Elizabeth, don't talk and don't even think for a couple of minutes. The entire world can stay on hold for a little while longer."  
  
Skates and Hammer, the pair that in a tough spot could beat three of a kind, were just Harm and Elizabeth for a few minutes. But for those few moments there were no demons, no relentless push to succeed, no risk. The demons would be back soon enough.  
  
"We're pathetic. Harm, we're just fucking pathetic. How many times have we turned our lives into a country western song? What's the damned line? It goes something like this: Let's just get drunk and screw. Shit! That's pitiful." By now the tears were coming.  
  
"Goddamnit I swore that I wouldn't do this again, but here I am, here we are, again. I don't even want to think about what this means."  
  
There wasn't anything else to do, so they just held each other. Right here, right now there were totally safe from the world around them. After a little bit Harm slipped slightly away and looked into the slightly red, damp eyes. "I'm sorry Liz. I'm so sorry. It's my fault." The apology was cut short by a female hand clamped over the mouth.  
  
"Bullshit. Why do you want to take the blame? There's no blame to take. We've been here before. I've started it. You've started it. Hell, last night I'm not sure what started it.  
  
"I do know this: You've got to get your personal life together. And, while you are at it, you need to watch your six politically. There are some long knives floating around with your name engraved on them, according to the rumor mill.  
  
"And, for the last time, you need to put the damn devils on your shoulders away and look forward. You've got a future to think about. Everything else is just prologue. Get moving."  
  
For a couple of long seconds Harm drank in the amazing woman next to him. "You want to know something?" The shaking female head wasn't enough to stop him. "You're really beautiful when you get on your philosophical high horse."  
  
Before he could do anything to stop it Liz flipped the sheet off and scrambled laughing onto Harm pinning him to the bed. "Philosophical high horse," she laughed. "You're so full of crap." With both hands she mussed his hair before her hands came to rest on his shoulders.  
  
A really wicked grin lit her face.  
  
"Since we've already strayed from the 'straight and narrow' what time is check out in this fire trap?"  
  
Noon was a long time away, but the time was put to good use.  
  
TBC 


	18. Facing a New Day

August 11, 2001, 1345 Local, The Crab Shack, Lexington Park, MD  
  
Silence dropped over the table like a dark, wet blanket as the waitress cleared away the last of the dishes, and the two normally loquacious aviators just sat lost in thought for a couple of minutes before Harm leaned forward to speak.  
  
"Hammer, you need to watch what you say next very carefully. If it's maudlin I'm going to smack you, and if you're going to be philosophical I'm not going to be held responsible for what happens next. So proceed with great caution."  
  
That stopped Harm in his tracks for a moment, but seconds later he pressed ahead with what he had to say, although his tone was a little abrupt. "All I was going to do was ask a question. Would that be alright, or should I just shut the hell up, pay the bill, and head up 235 toward Sodom on the Potomac?"  
  
Skates was staring down at her hands, but she did nod.  
  
"Can we talk about this, this thing, or whatever it is that trails us around?"  
  
"No Harm, I don't think we can talk about it," she whispered. "In fact, I know we can't talk about it right now because I don't want to be cross examined, and you know we've never been able to talk about things that were closely held without a lot of other stuff coming into the conversation." Her voice got stronger as she continued. "We're like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. When we're good, we're really good. In fact, no one is better than we are when we're really clicking.  
  
"When we're bad, we're really bad. The hell of it is the total lack of any middle ground in our lives. The only good thing is that we're generally really good, and that's saved our ass on more than one occasion. Did you know that at one time the CAG was going to send us to Top Gun? The only reason he didn't was that it would have set a 'bad precedent' according to NAVAIR.  
  
"Remember the one-v-three episode (one aircraft vs. three) that time we were at Nellis (Air Force Base)? That was Adm. Boone's deal, and I didn't know about it until a few months ago. Since the deep thinkers at NAVAIR wouldn't go along with a female wearing fighter weapons school patch, he wanted to make a point. I don't know how the deal was set up, but the three guys who jumped us up at north range were some heavy hitters from Miramar."  
  
That memory brought an involuntary smile to Harm's face. "Yeah, that was some workout if I remember correctly. That was originally briefed as a 2-v-1 training exercise to look at some tactical deals and turned into a free-for-all with a 'pop up' bandit. I'm still not sure how we managed to slide out of that deal without getting zapped."  
  
"Aw, come on Hammer. We got 'out' the old fashion way. Under my expert guidance you shot the one guy in the face at arm's length and then just out turned and burned the two other guys. Simple. The kicker was that the last guy who had the Sidewinder (heat-seeking air-to-air missile) stuck in his ear was the reigning Top Gun kill leader.  
  
"That was an awesome night at the club too wasn't it? The sorry suckers had to slink back home and we had a clean sweep. Apparently the Air Force was also in on the deal, because, if you remember, someone had hung a broom on the back wall. Who would have thought?"  
  
Skates' rendition of the story had a couple of details that were new, but Harm wasn't going to be diverted into telling old war stories. "Liz, that was probably one of our finest hours, but what's that got to do with today?"  
  
"Damnit counselor, why the interrogation? What is it you are so goddamn determined to accomplish here? We've got what is it more than 10 years of history? What's different today from three and a half years ago? Or five years ago, or seven years back? Let me help you out: Nothing is different. Nothing."  
  
Taken by surprise Harm tried to get back into the conversation, but she held a hand up to stop him from speaking.  
  
"Harm, we've both gotten older and with any luck smarter, so please, please don't move our recently concluded aerobic exercises into something on an ethereal plane. You want to know how I see us? It's very basic. We're very, very good at virtually everything we do because we are consummate actors playing roles in some kind of Greek tragedy or comedy. That part is still unclear to me. I can't tell you why sex is part of the equation at times and not at others. Maybe it's hormones or pheromones or something. I just don't know. But there is something I do know.  
  
"If incredible sex, gut wrenching fear, the smell of jet fuel and sweat, and the sweet sensation of cheating death were all there was in life we're on the fast track to heaven. That's why we're this way, but I'm reliably informed that there's more to life in the real world.  
  
"We share a common trait you refuse to acknowledge. We're adrenalin junkies pure and simple. Now, one, or both, of us needs to grow up."  
  
August 11, 2001, 1730 Hrs Local, Flag Country, USS Stennis, CVN-74, Arabian Sea  
  
Bud walked into the battle group commander's office and came to attention at the admiral's desk. "Lieutenant Commander Roberts reporting as ordered, sir."  
  
"At ease Commander Roberts! Mr. Danner has been delayed slightly, but he will be along in a few minutes. Pull up a chair. Coffee?"  
  
Recently nominated for a second star, the admiral had well deserved reputation as an affable, but hard nosed commander. Once coffee had been served and the steward dismissed he came quickly to the point. "Mr. Roberts, your reputation proceeds you, and you are indeed welcome on board. I am hopeful that you will be able to shed a little light on Washington's thinking about our mission and what's ahead.  
  
"Gen. Buckner had high praise for your briefing at the 3rd MEU, and I understand you did a good job with the hungry lions at the conference at Diego Garcia. When Mr. Danner arrives all we have on the agenda right now is a quick grip and grin. Then Adm. Boone has asked that you call your office as soon as you've 'made your manners' here. As usual he wasn't very big on the details and just wanted you to get on the STU as soon as possible." By the time the admiral finished his intelligence chief, Capt. Abraham Danner had entered and the formalities were quickly dispatched.  
  
"Abe, the commander needs a secure office and a STU ASAP to palaver with his higher headquarters. So, we'll shove our discussion back until 1830."  
  
It only took a couple of minutes to get Bud squared away in a secure location, and within another few moments Jennifer Coates' voice was clearly audible on the STU. "Adm. Boone's office. PO Coates speaking. This line is secure. How may I help you sir?"  
  
"Jen, good morning. Everything peaceful in Washington today?"  
  
"Oh, good morning Commander Roberts. Admiral Boone wanted to be sure you had escaped from the Marines and made it back into Naval custody safely. I also have a new guidance document to pass along. Can you access the ship's secure network?"  
  
"Jennifer hold on for a minute while I check to be sure the network connection in this office is secure and boot up my computer."  
  
It only took Bud a couple of moments to connect his laptop and the internal protocols confirmed the security of the ship's onboard network. "Okay, as long as the satellite gods do their thing, the ship's network is secure. Fire away."  
  
While the encrypted e-mail message worked its way through cyberspace from the Pentagon basement to the middle of the Arabian Sea the Jennifer caught Bud up with the latest from the office. Two beeps from the computer indicated that a secure message was in the mail queue. Once Bud entered his password and a level of authorization appropriate to the message it was translated and appeared on the screen.  
  
"Okay, Jen message received and acknowledged." Twelve more keystrokes and the message was officially acknowledged. "Thanks, and when you call Harriett tell her I will track her down later today."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
August 11, 2001, 1825 Hrs Local, Flag Country, USS Stennis, CVN-74, Arabian Sea  
  
When Bud made his way back into the admiral's office a steward was setting dinner up on the conference table. Before he could come to attention the admiral was quick with an "at ease Mr. Roberts" and gestured toward a chair. Capt. Danner was already seated, and the admiral moved to join them.  
  
"Gentlemen, with the changes taking place in the geopolitical world today, we're really between wind and water here. Our friends in Iran and Iraq are both keeping the pot boiling, and we keep getting indications that repeating the Cole (incident) is high on the local terrorist hit parade. I am anxious to hear what the big cheeses at the puzzle palace have in mind, so Mr. Roberts the floor's yours."  
  
Bud took a long moment to look at Capt. Danner and at the admiral gathering his thoughts before proceeding. "Gentlemen, I'm not going to be much help here because right now we're probably got the wrong force structure in the wrong place with inadequate prior mission planning. There is a growing body of opinion that neither Iran nor Iraq present a direct state-sponsored threat to American national interests, but that they are supplying intelligence and logistical support for transnational groups who seek to strike at western interests in the Gulf and around the world.  
  
"With that overarching thought the Pentagon has been directed to develop two alternative strategies for dealing with the threat. One avenue has been a sharp step up in intelligence activities aimed at preventing terrorist activities, and you will be receiving specific tasking in support of this work. I can't be specific as to that tasking right now, but guidance will be forthcoming within the next few days.  
  
"There is also a review being conducted within the DOD to create a new 'blueprint' for force structuring. If you want to take the time I have briefing materials that can shed more light on this program if I may be excused for a moment to retrieve them from the CDO (classified document officer)."  
  
After exchanging glances with his intelligence officer the admiral shook his head. "That won't be necessary Mr. Roberts. Adm. Boone was kind enough to back channel your briefing materials to me last night. It's good stuff, but at this point it's thinking that's a mile wide and a foot deep...if you get my drift." Bud picked up his right hand to make a point but Capt. Danner cut him off.  
  
"Mr. Roberts, I don't think there's much doubt in your mind, or more importantly in the minds of Adm. Boone, Capt. Rabb, Adm. Chegwidden, the SECNAV or anyone else that significant changes are going to be hard to drive down the food chain. We've been preparing to fight another large- scale conventional or nuclear war, and that's not in the cards, at least for the foreseeable future is it?" 


End file.
